The Fire's Fuel
by JasperIsAManlyMan
Summary: Although he deeply loves his people and fights to protect them, Prince Nuada is much more than just a patriot. If one looks deeper, he can see the other motivations behind the prince's determination. Here is the story no one knows.
1. Chapter 1

_Curse him_, Nuada thought as he stalked away, his head held high, his blood burning with rage. A mutilated piece of human filth blocked his path; a vicious kick sent the carcass flying. His heart ached with the pain of betrayal and grief, clenching his throat like an invisible fist, but Nuada would not weep; for Balor was still watching his son's back – Nuada could feel his angry gaze – and the prince would rather die a slow and painful death than show weakness in front of his father.

Anger was the solution – to let the fire of his fury solder shut the cracks in his heart. And so Nuada continued his internal rant. _Curse that fool to the blackest pit of suffering. May his guilt crush his very soul when our forests burn and our people's blood soaks the ground. _Then_ he will know his error in trusting the humans. _Then_ he will understand, and he will finish what he started. _

Nuada had reached the trees bordering the decimated village. Only then did he pause and turn back. His hard amber eyes scanned the burning homes; the slaughtered humans sprawled under the winter sky; the Golden Army – an answer to prayer in the war to reclaim their stolen lands – waiting for the king's next order, which would never come; and the king himself. His sister, his beloved companion since their birth, stood at their father's side. The fault line of grief in his chest trembled, threatening to rip open once again as he remembered Nuala's treachery. How could she, who knew his every dream, thought, emotion, and motive, accuse him of monstrosity and murder? She _knew_ why he had supported the use of the Golden Army! She _knew_ that his love for his people burned with a flame almost as bright as that of his love for her! She _knew_ that the only thing the proud prince feared was the destruction of the Fae! _She knew!_ And yet, such cruel words she had flung at him when she realized that he could look at the carnage left in the army's wake and approve.

Nuala felt his agony. She reached out to him through their link. _Brother!_ she cried. _Oh, Brother, come back! Come back and leave this hate behind. Let us go home, and things will be just as before. I know that I was harsh; please forgive me! Come back! I love you!_

Nuada's resolve shook like a tree in a tempest. He could go back, be reunited with his family….. He had only to walk back across the field. He could go home, to the Golden Hall of Bethmoora, that place which held no small portion of his heart. It was within his power to do so. It would be so _easy_.

Nuada drew in a shaking breath. Ah, yes, it would be easy; but what would be the cost? Nuala had been wrong; _nothing_ would ever return to the way it had been. No matter how hard he tried, he could never forget the atrocities done to his people by the greedy, selfish, evil race of men. How could he stand tall as a Prince of Fae if he abandoned his people now? How could he look into their eyes without shame if he did nothing to protect them? No. It could not be done. To know what is right and not do it would be the worst cowardice; and it would be _wrong_ to return with his father and his sister and smile in the face of his people's death. It was now more than a matter of personal preference. It was a matter of loyalty, honor, and duty. And Nuada could not shirk that.

Nuala felt his heart harden again. _No!_ she wailed. _Please!_

From across the field, Nuada met his sister's eyes one last time. _I love you, dear Sister_.

Nuala's heartbreak lanced through his chest_. If you love me, stay!_

Nuada barely restrained tears, his own and Nuala's. _What value could my love ever have if it came from a dishonorable heart? I will see you again, when the right time has come._ Out loud, his voice unyielding, speaking so that every Fae on the battlefield would hear, he said, "I will return when my people need me. I will return and end our suffering at men's hands."

So Nuada turned his back on his life as he had known it and took his first step as an exile. Feeling numb, as though he walked in a dream, Nuada swiftly made his way through the trees, tall and ancient. He did not know exactly where he was going; he just knew that he needed to get _away _from everything. For an indistinguishable period of time, he ran. Perhaps he would have continued thus forever; but eventually he heard a racket behind him. He stopped and listened, still slightly dazed. Branches snapped and undergrowth crackled as something large barreled its way through the forest toward him. It sounded like a bear. For a moment, Nuada wondered if it would attack him and force him to kill it. But no – the wind had shifted, fanning the scent of his pursuer across his face, and it was not a bear. The familiar smell of leathery hide, animal musk, and steel washed over him; and his knees almost gave way in relief.

_About time!_ Mr. Wink grunted as he came into view. _I thought you were never going to slow down. So – where are we heading?_

Nuada could only stare mutely at the troll who had trained him, his only friend besides Nuala. _Someone_ believed in him still. Wink had not abandoned him. He had come after him. He was coming _with_ him. The companionship was a heady balm to his pain; the powerful knowledge that he wasn't entirely alone soothed the double sting of Balor and Nuala's rejection.

The prince reached out and tightly gripped the burly troll's arm. "My friend," he rasped – but his throat was too tight for him to continue.

Reading the wordless, fervent thanks in Nuada's eyes, Mr. Wink knew that, though the prince would never admit it, he was about to break. Of course, Wink wouldn't have minded – if anyone had the right to shed tears, it was Nuada. But Wink knew his friend well, and he knew that if Nuada lost control of his emotions in front of him, he would be ashamed. Since another emotional burden was the last thing Nuada needed, Wink distracted him. He clapped Nuada on the shoulder. _Don't look so surprised to see me. You aren't the only one who disagrees with the king's decision. Whenever you do whatever it is you plan to do, you will have allies._

The diversion worked; the gears in Nuada's mind began turning again. He began to pace as he thought. "But will I have enough?"

Wink shrugged. _That depends on what you want to do._

That, at least, Nuada knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. Heaven and earth could crumble, time itself could unravel; but the answer to that question would not change. The Crown Prince of Bethmoora stopped and stood straight, tall, and angry, the very picture of a passionate warrior. "I want to ensure the survival of the Fae and give them a prosperous future. I want to utterly exterminate the human race and restore our people to what was once theirs."

Mr. Wink noted the fire in Nuada's eyes and tone. Well, his hatred still burned hot. That was good – Nuada would need motivation in the days to come. _You mean to continue the war against humanity?_ It wasn't really a question, and Wink continued without waiting for a response. _Then, no, you do not have enough supporters. The entire realm of Fae will be divided between the desires for peace or for blood._

"And even if everyone were united," Nuada seamlessly picked up Mr. Wink's train of thought, pacing again, "the sheer number of Fae casualties would be overwhelming, just like it was before the Golden Army was created." He stilled again, and his eyes fixed in the direction from which he had come – toward the battlefield where he had left everything behind. "That's the answer, then," he murmured. "I must take control of the Golden Army." His black mouth pressed into a hard line, and he made a soft noise of contempt. "That would be a very _interesting _conversation," he ground out from between clenched teeth. "Can you imagine my walking back into Bethmoora after all this and asking, 'Father, I know we parted under unfavorable circumstances, but would you please let me borrow the Army?'?" Nuada laughed harshly, but Wink could detect the undertones of grief in the prince's voice. And Nuada didn't know the half of it. The troll winced a little at the thought of telling him what had transpired after he had left. Perhaps it could wait until tomorrow… But the elf's sharp eyes missed nothing, including that small cringe. Gold eyes snapped to his, intuition sparking in their depths. Too easily Nuada read the hesitation on Mr. Wink's face. "What are you not telling me?" he demanded suspiciously.

_Nuada_, Wink began, and floundered for a way to deliver this news. He decided on very gently. _It's bad_, he cautioned.

As rigid and expressionless as Nuada was, he could have passed for a statue. "Tell me," he said, his voice very smooth.

Mr. Wink was not fooled; he knew that the prince was at his most dangerous when he feigned calm. But still, Nuada had to know. _Your father has made a treaty with the humans. As a part of the treaty, on piece of the crown was given to them. The man who took it rode away immediately, and I don't know where it was taken._

Nuada's face was whitish-grey, shocked. "He….. He gave them….." he whispered, unable to finish the dreadful sentence. Close on the heels of shock came fury, and Nuada once again went rigid. He turned sharply from Wink and took a few steps toward the massacred village he had left, as though he intended to chase after the piece at once. However, the futility of such a mission struck him – much time had passed since the piece had been taken; he had no idea where it had been taken; and, though Nuada was twice as fast as the swiftest human, he still could not outrun a horse – and he stopped. "He knew what I would plan to do," Nuada realized bitterly, speaking of his father. "He knew I would want to use the Army, so he made sure that, at the very least, I could not do so immediately." He turned back to Wink. "And the other two pieces?"

_The king kept one,_ Wink replied. Then after wavering for a second, he added, _And Nuala bears the other. _

Despair and rage warred within the exile. As though the insult of giving one piece to a human had not been enough, Balor had also ensured that if Nuada wanted the other two pieces, he would have to harm those he loved most. For Nuada knew that neither his father nor his sister would willingly relinquish the pieces. He could take them by force if necessary – but even the _thought_ of seeing Nuala hurt was like a knife in his chest. But still, he _had_ to save his people, and thus he _had_ to have the pieces….. And his thoughts raced on, going in circles.

Mr. Wink saved his sanity by laying a large hand on his shoulder and interrupting his pointless deliberation. _Don't drive yourself mad,_ the troll suggested. _We might be able to use this. We will search for the missing piece of the crown, and while we search, we give the Fae time. Let them see that the humans will fail to uphold their end of the treaty. Let them become enraged again. Gather more allies. Who knows – when the humans break the agreement, you might not have to do anything; your father might declare war himself. _

Nuada barely smiled. He doubted that; his father had been deeply shaken by the Golden Army's indiscriminate slaughter. But the rest of Wink's plan was nearly perfect. His course decided upon, Nuada felt much better, focused. He was a warrior, after all – a man of action. With this new clarity of mind, he inspected his surroundings for the first time. Night had fallen. He and Mr. Wink were deep in the forest, at the feet of the mountains. At that exact moment, snow began to fall, kissing his face with feather-light coolness. He sighed softly, and cast his eyes around them once more, considering where to spend the night.

As luck would have it, there was a good sized cave nearby, big enough for even Mr. Wink to fit into. They entered it and sat, and Mr. Wink unshouldered a rather large pack. His hand disappeared into it and returned holding a few strips of dried meat and two pieces of bread. He handed half to Nuada. _I didn't think you had brought anything to eat_, he explained.

Nuada almost smiled in earnest this time. "You're right; I was too agitated to think of food when I left. Thank you."

He sat back against the wall of the cave and ate in silence. When he had finished, he lay down and closed his eyes; but there was a rock jutting into his back. He shifted into a more comfortable position and thought sarcastically, _Home, sweet home_. But he sobered instantly, for he knew that this was not his home. He no longer had a home.

Now that all was quiet and still, his buried sorrow rose to the surface again. Home, his father, Nuala….. All were out of his reach now, possibly forever. He felt one scalding tear slide down his face; and in his mind, he sought a happier time and place. When he eventually fell asleep, he dreamed of his childhood – of shouting, running, and playing with Nuala beneath the golden trees of Bethmoora.

**Author's Note****: Hello! Thanks for reading! Because I still feel bad for dropping my last story due to writer's block, I would like to assure everyone that this story will **_**not**_** be left unfinished because it is already done – I have already written all the chapters and will be posting them at regular intervals. Just so y'all know. Thanks again!**


	2. A Little Trouble

The sky was lightening, but dawn had not yet broken when Nuada's eyes opened. Immediately, he was wide awake and tense, listening for the sounds that had woken him. From outside the cave, guttural grunts and rumbles came. Nuada relaxed – he would know the native language of trolls anywhere, and what harm could his own people mean him? The newly exiled prince rose and walked to the mouth of the cave, hoping that he could glean some useful information; long ago he had learned that trolls gossiped like old women. There were four trolls, and they had just sat down to eat breakfast when Nuada first laid eyes on them.

_Hail and well met, friends!_ he called in their language.

Surprised, the trolls turned to look at who had greeted them. Their beady eyes locked first on his face, on the transverse Royal Scar that crossed his cheek bones and nose. Next, they stared at the Royal Seal fastened at his waist. There was dead silence, and the only things that moved were the puffs of steam that rose from Nuada's nose and the trolls' snouts as they breathed in the frigid air.

Nuada's instincts suddenly warned him that he had made a mistake in revealing himself. Automatically, he began to assess the situation. Four trolls against one elf did not seem like favorable odds. But this was no ordinary elf. This was Nuada Silver Lance, champion of the Fae. And though they were armed with spiked clubs, by the looks of them, the four trolls were not soldiers.

Neither were they friends. Nuada knew that even as they rose and walked menacingly toward him.

_So_, the largest troll grumbled, _the rumors are true. The great warrior-prince of Bethmoora has fled and hidden himself like a gutless cur_.

Nuada's blood boiled at the insult. His back straightened until he looked as hard and unbendable as iron. The look in his eyes nearly made the large troll take a step back. His companions _did_ take a step back when the prince's hand gripped the shaft of his spear with a white-knuckled grip. Though Nuada said not a word, his message was implied in every line of his taunt body: Leave, before I kill you.

The gargantuan troll weighed his options. If he yielded, he would look like a fool. And besides, the elf was alone….. Surely not even Silver Lance could defeat four trolls unaided. So, despite the apprehension curling in his stomach, the troll took another step forward. _How richly do you think the King would reward us for putting down his traitor of a son?_ he taunted.

That was too much for Nuada to bear. To question his mettle was one thing. But no one – absolutely _no one_ – could question his loyalty to his people and live. Not after he had given up everything to defend them. He struck with all the fury that had been brewing in his heart since his father had betrayed him. Before the troll could blink, Nuada was right in front of him, and the prince's spear was being thrust up under his chin, into the softer hide at his throat. He fell and did not rise again.

Seeing the death of their leader, the other three trolls became enraged. As one, they charged. But they were large – slow, and no match for the experienced elf. He sidestepped one and slashed the tendons behind his knee. When he went down, bellowing in pain, Nuada finished him off with quick, efficient brutality.

The two remaining trolls were wary now; they moved slower, more cautiously, circling Nuada. Unfortunately for them, the noise had woken Mr. Wink – and the trolls had put their backs to the cave. Without warning, Mr. Wink's metal fist slammed down onto one troll's skull. Gore splattered, and the last troll barely escaped Mr. Wink's following punch.

While the troll was distracted, Nuada went in for the kill. However, he recovered faster than Nuada had expected, swinging his club even with Nuada's chest. He dodged the blow with a backflip; the troll only nicked his right shoulder. When his feet hit the ground, Nuada used his momentum to flip forward and deeply slash the troll from collarbone to navel.

The troll's thick hide kept his organs from spilling out, but the hulking faerie was stunned; he dropped to his knees. Cold and merciless, Nuada looked him in the eyes for a long second and then cut his throat, not flinching when he was sprayed with the troll's blood.

The brawl over, Mr. Wink stormed toward the prince. _I fall asleep, and you pick a fight!_ he raged. _Can you not stay out of trouble for one day?_ Wink wasn't sure if the expression on Nuada's face was a smile or a snarl.

"Apparently not," Nuada replied, calmly wiping troll blood off his face. He knelt and washed his hands in the snow that had fallen the previous night. "Also, technically, it was they who started the fight, not I."

Nuada stood; but as soon as he rose, he collapsed back to his knees, swaying. Wink rushed to the elf's side. His face had turned grey, and his eyes dilated until his pupils nearly overwhelmed his golden irises.

Nuada could feel it now, the toxin in the scratch on his shoulder, spreading like waves of fire up his neck and down his arm. His head spun. "Poison," he managed to croak.

And the world went dark.


	3. The Healer

_Dark, twisted dreams slithered through Nuada's mind. Deformed shadows hissed and seethed all around him; faceless enemies, always just out of reach, surrounded Nuala and clawed at her until her blood ran gold against the white of her skin. "Nuada!" she cried, her face contorted in agony. "Brother, help me!" And although he ran until his heart burst, he could never draw near enough to save her. _

_He stood in battlefields choked with Fae dead. Humans devoured their flesh, bathed in their blood, raped screaming elves and dryads, tortured small brownies and pixies, and laughed at him, standing helplessly, held by invisible bonds. Their maws gaped red as they howled with their maniacal laughter, and all around them forests burned._

Something blessedly cool rested on his forehead. "Nuada? Can you hear me, Nuada?"

_He saw an elf woman standing before him, tall and fair. Her silver hair swirled around her face, and her gold eyes, so familiar, looked tenderly into his. "Mother?" he whispered. She smiled sweetly – and then her flesh melted away until all that remained was her bare skull, still grinning grotesquely at him._

A gasp tearing out of his throat, Nuada jerked awake. His surroundings – a room in a quaint stone cottage – were unfamiliar. Adrenaline shot through his veins. So when someone laid a hand on his shoulder, he seized the wrist in a vice grip.

The gasp – the very soft, very _feminine_ gasp – that followed made his eyes dart to a face.

Shocked, wide eyes the red-brown color of polished cedar met his. Lustrous hair of the same color fell in thick waves on either side of a delicate, lovely face. Pointed ears peeked through her hair. Her skin was the lightest shade of green. To say the least, this person was _not_ what Nuada had expected to wake up to.

Seeing the baffled look on his face, the woman spoke, her voice low and soothing. "I mean you no harm, Prince." Then pain pinched her features slightly. "Please, let go of my arm."

Nuada looked back at the wrist he grasped. It was so slender that his thumb overlapped his fingers nearly up to the second joint. Feeling her pulse pounding rapidly, he realized that he had frightened her. He released his death grip, a twinge of remorse nagging at his conscience when he saw the woman rub the bloodless spot where he had grabbed her.

Now that his body knew that there was no danger, a wave of fatigue hit him hard. Nuada fell back heavily against the bed, his muscles trembling in exertion.

Keen eyes flashed to his face, and her demeanor changed abruptly from timid to concerned. She laid the back of her right hand on his forehead to ascertain his temperature; her other hand held his wrist to check his pulse. "How do you feel?" she asked him.

"Better," Nuada replied. His voice was raspy. "Tired."

"I'm not surprised," she remarked. "The trolls that live in this area dip their weapons in a poison they make from a fungus that grows in the mountains. It creates hallucinations and makes victims burn with a usually lethal fever. You are very lucky to be alive." She rose and walked to a nearby table covered with plants and utensils.

Well, that explained the horrible things he had seen. "My friend – the troll who was with me –"

"He is safe," she assured him, returning to his side with a steaming cup in her hands. "He is sleeping now, but it is for the first time in days, and he refused to leave your side until the worst had passed. He is a true friend – you are fortunate to have him." Gently, she slipped her arm under his neck and shoulders and helped him sit up. "Drink this."

Nuada sniffed the liquid suspiciously. He had always hated taking medicine. _Always_. It unfailingly tasted revolting, and he usually preferred to let his body heal at its own rate, without help. Nuala had teased him about it for years….. But he did not want to think of her now. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

The woman grinned at his mistrustful expression. "Willow bark tea, to help with any pain you might feel and to keep your fever down." Her smile widened further. "Don't worry – I put a little honey in it to help with the flavor."

Nuada scowled at the tea ruefully, but he did have to admit that a bone-deep ache _had_ settled over him. Ignoring how the tea burned his tongue, he downed it in three large gulps. Honestly, though, it did not taste all that bad. The woman carefully helped him lie back down. "Thank you," Nuada said hoarsely. "You are a healer?"

She nodded. "Yes. And now you should sleep some more."

He _was_ exhausted. But before he dropped off, he wanted to know one more thing. "What is your name?"

Russet eyes held gold ones. "My name is Dynala."

When Nuada woke again – this time from a deep and dreamless sleep – he woke to the sound of voices. Mr. Wink was speaking in his native language of grunts, and he sounded upset. _You're sure that he is all right? He has been sleeping for a long time._

Dynala answered in the same tongue. _He has been infected with a very dangerous, powerful poison – smaller amounts of the toxin have felled grown trolls. He survived because he is strong, and the worst is over now; but he is weary. Let him rest. He will wake soon, I think._

"I am awake," Nuada called softly. He tried to sit up and found that a small measure of his strength had returned. He got himself upright – barely.

Dynala rounded a corner with Wink right behind her. She stopped dead when she saw Nuada sitting up. Her jaw dropped. "How – _what?_" she spluttered. "You should not have been able to even _move_ for days!" She rushed to his side to check his temperature – Nuada noticed that today her long hair was pulled back into a braid – and when her hand touched his skin, her eyes widened further. "Incredible," she breathed. "It is as though….." Understanding lit up her eyes, and she laughed. "Of course. Her Highness, your twin – she must have been experiencing the same symptoms, and the healers of Bethmoora attended to her even as I attended to you. The combined healing magic has sped up your recovery."

Nuala. She had suffered with him because of their link. Nuada's eyes closed at the pain of that thought. _Oh, Sister…_.. He longed to see her, to see how she fared, to comfort her, to just be with her.

A hand touched his shoulder. His eyes opened to see Dynala offering another cup of tea. There was sorrow in her eyes, but she did not speak or try to comfort him. For that, he was grateful. He took the tea and drank it, more slowly this time to spare his still-stinging tongue.

When he had finished it and handed the cup back to Dynala, she left, promising to return with food. To his embarrassment, Nuada's stomach rumbled pathetically at the thought of eating, but Dynala just repressed a smile and left.

Mr. Wink nudged Nuada lightly. _She's a good cook. Though, she'll probably start you off with something light so you don't get sick._ The giant troll shifted self-consciously. _I am glad to see you well. I was... concerned. _

Wink might have been uncomfortable with expressing his feelings; but now that the prince had separated himself from all others, it was good to know that _someone_ cared. "I am glad you are here, my friend," Nuada told him quietly. "Thank you."

As promised, Dynala reentered the sickroom – for that was where Nuada realized he was – with a bowl of thin but well-flavored soup and a small loaf of bread. When he had finished eating, Nuada decided to satiate another hunger – curiosity. "How did I come to be here?" he asked.

"I live near the cave you stayed in," she explained. "I heard the ruckus, and I thought that someone might need medical attention, so I went down to look." She frowned at the memory. "I found Mr. Wink trying to revive you, and I offered my assistance."

Wink snorted sarcastically. _'Offered her assistance' – huh. She shrieked and nearly bowled me over trying to help._

Nuada's eyebrows rose and he looked questioningly at Dynala. To his intense amusement, she blushed, making the skin over her cheekbones turn a dark emerald. "I knew what the trolls had put on the spikes of that club," she defended herself, a little waspishly. "I knew that there was not much time until he –" She trailed off sharply, looked away, and a strangely desperate look came into her eyes. "And we need _him_, of all people, to live."

Without explaining that last remark, she snatched the used dishes and left the room. Nuada frowned after her. "What was that about?" he muttered.

Mr. Wink sighed. _A sprite came while you were sick and told her about the treaty and your exile. She was angry at the king, and very sad. She wept for a time. She must understand that you have not abandoned our cause._

"Ah," Nuada murmured. Then he yawned widely. "By the stars!" he growled in self-disgust. "How long will I sleep?"

"You will sleep, Your Highness, until your body tells you to stop." Dynala turned the corner with a smile on her mouth and a humorous glimmer in her eyes. "Do not fight it; it will help you heal more quickly." She pulled a chair up beside Nuada's bed. "By your leave," she murmured and took his hand. Her eyes closed, and her mouth moved, framing words of healing in the Old Tongue. Gentle coolness swept up his arm, into his shoulder, and across his body, the magic relaxing him. By the time Dynala opened her eyes and stood, Nuada was half asleep already. Dynala helped him back into a recumbent position, and a second later his eyes slid shut in sleep.


	4. Sit and Read

Sunlight pouring in from a tiny open window woke Nuada the next day. A breeze carried in the scents of trees and snow; Nuada breathed it in appreciatively. Now that it was light and he was alert, Nuada sat up – the task was not as hard as it had been the day before – and looked around curiously. His bed was against a wall; the open window was above him. On one side of the room was the table he had seen before, laden with herbs and the tools used in preparing them. Opposite of him was the door and a hearth, home to a roaring fire that kept the room warm despite the winter air coming through the window.

And beside the fireplace in a rocking chair sat Dynala. His shirt lay in her lap, along with a needle and a small spool of thread, but her hands were still, and her head had fallen onto her shoulder. She had fallen asleep, watching over him and mending his clothes.

Apparently, his shirt had been the only thing she had not completed –in another chair next to her, she had stacked his boots, pants, vest, belt, vambraces, greaves, and brigandine; his weapons leaned against the wall. All had been impeccably cleaned and repaired, if necessary.

But if _his_ clothes were there, whose clothes was he wearing? He glanced down at the shirt. It was simple, tan and practical, but very well-made. He looked pensively at Dynala, slumbering peacefully. Did she not live alone, then? Wink had not mentioned anyone else living here, but they had not spoken for long before Nuada had fallen back asleep. Had she a father, a brother? Or was she married? The though had not occurred to Nuada before, but it made sense. She was beautiful, kind, and skilled. What man would _not_ want a wife such as she? But whether she was married or not did not matter much to him, so Nuada dismissed his speculations.

The next thought to enter his mind was that he was irritated with convalescence. He pushed back the blanket that covered him – another piece of exceptional handiwork, he noted – and swung his legs over the bedside.

"I would not do that if I were you." Nuada jumped slightly; he had not realized that Dynala was awake. But when he peered back at her, her eyes were open, and her mouth was pursed disapprovingly.

For some reason – Nuala would have called it his tendency to be a pig-headed, argumentative _man_ – Nuada bristled at the warning. "You yourself said that I was healing rapidly," he contended. "I feel much stronger now."

Dynala eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Suddenly she looked _too_ calm. "As you wish, You Highness," she conceded.

Her sudden yielding faintly disturbed him, but Nuada brushed the premonition off. He would be fine. With more effort than he had expected to expend, he wrenched himself upright. Blood roared in his ears and he wavered a little, but he managed to avoid falling. Smiling a tad in victory, Nuada took three steps toward the door. Then, for some reason, the floor tilted and rushed up to meet him, and everything went dark.

As soon as his eyes opened again, Nuada's face began to burn with humiliation. He had fainted. _Fainted!_ He, Nuada Silver Lance, had _swooned_ like a dramatic maiden, and someone had needed to carry him back into bed. Ugh. He shuddered.

Then Dynala walked into the room with yet another cup of tea. Desperate to salvage some of his pride, Nuada sat up on his own. Dynala handed him the tea without a word, and he drank it just as silently.

When he handed her the empty cup, however, she locked eyes with him. "If you told me the correct way to draw a sword or use a spear, I would not question you because you are a warrior," she said softly. Her message was clear: Do me the same courtesy; in matters of healing, defer to the healer.

Nuada flushed again, but since she had not reprimanded him in a shaming, condescending manner, he was able to accept her words. "I apologize," he said, meeting her eyes and speaking clearly, for he had erred, and to cravenly look away and mumble like a child would be unacceptable and dishonorable.

Dynala smiled forgivingly. "I accept you apology, Your Highness. If you are restless, perhaps I could bring you something to read?"

When was the last time he had sat still and just _read_ for more than a few minutes? He could vaguely remember doing so as a child; he recalled that he had enjoyed it. "Yes, please. I would appreciate that."

Dynala left the room and returned a moment later with food – somewhat heartier than yesterday's fare – and three books. Nuada was ravenous, and the food was delicious; so it was not long until a smirking Dynala took away the empty dishes. Once he was alone, Nuada inspected the books. One was a tome of history, the same book that Nuada had on a shelf in his room at home. That book he had memorized cover to cover; he laid it aside. The second book was just as thick – _The Art of War_. Nuada pondered reading that; Sun Tzu had a surprisingly comprehensive grasp on warfare – for a human, at least. But he had not looked at the last book yet, so he would wait before deciding.

The last book was smaller than the others, and stamped across its cover was a name – only a female name. Nuada frowned slightly, and since he did not find the title enlightening as to the subject matter of the book, he opened it and scanned the first few pages. Ah, it was a poem, a lay of two lovers. It was not something he normally would have read, but nevertheless, it caught his attention, and read it he did.

"_This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean speaks, and in accents disconsolate, answers the wail of the forest…"_

And on he read of the maid and the youth, separated during the expulsion of their people from their land; the many years the woman spent searching for her lost love; and their long-awaited reunion, tainted by death and sorrow. The situation seemed far too familiar – the Fae were facing something very similar.

It was a long story; by the time he had finished it, the sun was setting, and Dynala was bringing him his evening meal. "Thank you for the book," Nuada said as she set the tray before him. "It was good. Sad, certainly, but good."

Dynala smiled. "Most poetry is," she remarked, and handed the customary cup of willow bark tea. "Shall I bring another like it tomorrow? Something less….. gloomy?"

Nuada's mouth twitched upward at the corners. "Yes, thank you."

As she had done the night before, Dynala sat beside him, took his hand, and directed waves of healing magic into his body, rooting out any traces of the damage the poison had caused. And just like it had the night before, the magic lulled Nuada to sleep.

**Author's Note****: Hey, guys! I forgot to mention this when I first posted the story, but this is **_**not**_** going to end like the movie. Greaves are armor worn over the calves, vambraces are armor worn over the forearms, and a brigandine is a tunic or something similar with metal rings or plates sewn onto it. The book Nuada reads is **_**Evangeline, A Tale of Acadie**_** by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Have We Met?

The next day, Nuada woke just after dawn – the time at which he had trained himself to wake. He felt a sense of triumph; his health had to be improving if he was not sleeping as long. In fact, he felt well enough to get up, but, then again, that was what he'd thought yesterday.

Someone knocking on his door interrupted his deliberation. "Come in," he called.

It was Mr. Wink. _Dynala looked you over before you woke up. She says that you can walk around as long as you don't overdo it._

"Excellent." Nuada was more than eager to get out of bed; he jumped up without a second thought. The sudden rush of blood from his head made him stagger, though fortunately he did not fall.

Mr. Wink gave him an exasperated look. _I _did_ mention not overdoing it, didn't I? Take it slow. There is breakfast in the kitchen when you're ready._

Wink left then, and Nuada scowled darkly – he was unaccustomed to fragility of any kind in his body; it irked him to no end. Nevertheless, he resolved to move carefully. He was famished, but before he ate he wanted to change into his own clothes, which were still stacked on the chair. He did so, still slightly curious about the owner of the clothes he had been given.

That done, Nuada stepped out of his room and into the rest of Dynala's home for the first time. The room he entered first was the great room. It was small, only having enough space for the three chairs it featured around the hearth. Drawn by the tantalizing smell of food, Nuada followed his nose to the equally tiny kitchen, which adjoined the great room. Once there, Nuada sat at the table and devoured the breakfast served on large platters – poached eggs, ham, and freshly baked bread. As he ate, Nuada examined the house; he could see nearly all of it from where he sat. Everything was, he noticed, immaculate. He doubted that he would be able to find so much as a _speck_ of dust in the whole place! Dynala must clean like a madwoman, he thought to himself, slightly awed. Speaking of which….. "Have you seen Dynala this morning?" he asked Wink.

The troll nodded. _After she made breakfast, she went outside to work – feeding the animals, taking care of the garden, and such_. When Nuada's eyebrows shot up in surprise, Wink chuckled. _What? Did you think the food appeared out of thin air? _

Very funny. "_No,_" Nuada replied acerbically. "It is just that Dynala has the demeanor of a lady at court. She and farm work simply seemed at variance with each other, that is all." But now that Wink had told him what Dynala was doing, Nuada felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity – he wanted to see what this soft-spoken, genteel woman did with her time. He rose and walked out of the kitchen, toward the heavy wooden door he had seen earlier – sunlight shone from the crack beneath it, so he assumed that it led outside. He pushed it open, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light, harsh after days indoors. He did not hear Mr. Wink mutter, _Why so suddenly interested?_

Dynala's home was situated in a valley, concealed by the mountains and surrounded by thick forests. Unless one knew how to find it, Nuada imagined that he could search for days and only get hopelessly lost. It was a perfect home for an elf – far from any humans, and too well-hidden for someone to stumble upon accidentally.

But if that is so, Nuada wondered suddenly, his ears pricking, why do I hear voices? They came from behind the house; he was moving before he could remember that he was not yet in a suitable condition for fighting.

"Come, my lady, say that you will marry me!" a male voice pleaded teasingly.

"_She_, marry _you?_" another voice – also male – demanded hotly. "You have ten girls waiting for you at home! I, on the other hand, my lady, am perfectly eligible. I've a good farm north of here. I could provide – "

"That is enough, my friends." This voice, at least, was stern. "Thank you, my lady. We will leave now."

The first voice spoke again, still boisterous. "Speak for yourself, Declan my boy! I shall not leave this spot until I go with my bride-to-be."

Nuada rounded the corner of the house and took in the scene before him. Dynala stood at the door of a barn with a bucket in her hand and an expression of calm patience upon her face. Clustered around her were three Fae – two elves and a gancanagh – all looking completely besotted.

From an objective point of view, Nuada supposed that he could not blame them for their feelings, but lack of culpability would not excuse their rudeness. He walked firmly through the snow toward the group. "My lady?" he called, opting for more formality than he had previously used with Dynala; he did not wish to imply anything by being too familiar with her and thereby harm her reputation. At the sound of his voice, all eyes flashed to him. Three mouths dropped open at the sight of the Royal Seal fixed to his belt; the fourth mouth attempted – with limited success – to repress a smile. "Good morning, my lady," Nuada greeted Dynala, not stopping his approach until he stood at her side. The men parted silently to let him pass. "I did not know that you were entertaining guests," he continued conversationally, but his eyes were hard as he gazed at the three shamelessly bold suitors.

Dynala smiled neutrally at him as she curtsied and returned his salutation, matching his decorum. "Good morning, Your Highness. I do not entertain guests at present; however, all traveling Fae are welcome to stop at my home for rest and sustenance." She gestured to the men who stood before her, and Nuada saw that each of them carried small parcels under their arms, no doubt full of food.

The gancanagh's eyes were twinkling in a way that Nuada did not find reassuring. "Aye, and we are most grateful, my lady," he said, bowing slightly. He never stopped looking at the prince, and a small, smug smile was quirking at his lips. "And you, Your Highness – what brings _you_ here?" The implication was subtle, but clear.

One of the elves – Declan, Nuada guessed – who was white-skinned and golden-eyed like Nuada, jerked in shock. "_Cavan!_" he hissed furiously. "You go too far!"

Rage made Nuada's blood steam. "Indeed." His recent history as an invalid was forgotten. "And I shall take payment for your insult to the lady out of your worthless hide."

The slender green lady in question rapidly stepped in front of Nuada, halting the prince's advance toward Cavan; Nuada almost ran into her. "_Enough._" Dynala's voice rang with authority; all eyes turned to her. Any good humor and patience were gone from her face. Her voice was cold and hard as steel. "Not _one drop_ of blood is to be spilt on my land." She focused her gaze on the three Fae to whom she had given food. "I wish you all traveling mercies."

They were not so stupid that they did not recognize a dismissal. They all backed away rapidly. Nuada still would have liked to beat Cavan to a bloody pulp, but, prince or not, Nuada was a guest, and the mistress of the house had spoken.

Cavan and the other elf whose name Nuada did not know left without a backward glance. Declan, however, paused. "My lady, I wish to apologize for their behavior. I am ashamed, and I hope that you will forgive me."

Dynala's eyes softened, and she smiled. "You bid them stop," she reminded him gently. "I will not forget it. There is nothing to forgive."

Then Declan turned to the Prince. "And, Silver Lance….." he cleared his throat awkwardly. "I served in your father the King's army. I – I know….. what you have done for us." His intense, zealous eyes met Nuada's. "I will not forget it. On the day that you need it, you will have my sword," he vowed.

Gratitude so powerful that it nearly choked him rose in Nuada's chest. He clasped Declan's arm. "My thanks – I will have need of you and others like you."

Declan grimaced. "When I return home and tell my village about the treaty, you will have many others who feel as I do," he promised.

"Resume your journey, then, and may your path be smooth."

When they were alone again, Nuada rounded on Dynala, his anger resurfacing. "Do you experience such encounters _often?_" he inquired through gritted teeth.

Dynala looked him full in the face, serene once more. "I see you found your clothes," she noted, unruffled. "That is good. After my brother died, I kept some of his clothes just in case; you are lucky that my brother's stature was similar to your own because there are no other men within ten miles of my home. Is your shirt mended to your satisfaction?"

Broadsided by her random question, Nuada spluttered an answer. "I – yes. You have obvious skill with needlework." But this was not what he wanted to talk about! "Do not distract me!" he ordered. "Answer my question."

Dynala's brows rose just a hint at his tone, but she replied, "I have only lived here for two years. In that time, a situation like that has only arisen once before. In that instance, the man spoke in jest, like Cavan." She turned away and walked into the barn.

Nuada followed hot on her heels, demanding as he walked, "And what if one day someone comes who does _not _speak in jest? What if you refuse and he becomes angry?" To his surprise, worry emerged unbidden and tinged the edges of his anger. "You could be hurt!"

Dynala heard the concern in his tone. When she whirled around to look at him, her eyes were astounded. She stared at him in surprise for a moment before she responded. "That is why I carry this." Setting down the bucket – which was full of grain – she lifted the left sleeve of her dress. Nuada's eyebrows flew upward when he saw what was concealed there.

Tugging the hunter green fabric back down over the slender dagger and its arm sheath, Dynala chuckled once. "I hope that I never have to use it, but, as my father once told me, 'The will to win is worthless if you do not have to will,'" she patted her hidden dagger, "'to prepare.'"

Nuada blinked rapidly, recovering from Dynala's unexpected disclosure. "Your father was right," he murmured, almost to himself.

"Yes," she agreed. "He was right about many things." She picked up the bucket again and poured some of the grain into the feeding trough of three goats, who immediately began eating. Upon meeting her eyes again, he noticed the impish sparkle there. "Including you."

Apparently, this woman was full of surprises. "Me?" Nuada repeated, dumbfounded. "Do I know your father?"

Now Dynala looked confused. "Mr. Wink did not tell you?" At Nuada's answering expression of further bewilderment, she raised her eyebrows. "Hmm. I thought he would have once he recognized me."

Every time this woman opened her mouth, she multiplied his questions tenfold! "You have met Mr. Wink before?" Nuada asked, feeling woefully uninformed. Laughter – heartfelt, earnest laughter – ensued. It seemed that Dynala could scarcely _breathe_ past it. Now Nuada was simply frustrated. "What could _possibly_ be so funny?" he growled.

Desperately trying to catch her breath, Dynala responded. "Prince, I have met _you _before!"

**Author's Note****: "The will to win is useless if you do not have the will to prepare." – Thane Yost. **


	6. Unexpected

_That_ hit Nuada like a punch to the gut. As though she had done nothing but make a bland comment on the weather, Dynala moved on to feed a horse in another stall. Nuada could only stare at her. No – there was _no_ way. It was _impossible!_ Dynala was not someone easily forgotten; he would _remember_ her if they had met! And yet he wracked his memory, trying futilely to recall her face lurking in any corner of his mind.

A giggle broke his concentration; his focus snapped back to Dynala. "It was a very long time ago, when we were still children," she explained. "And I was too nervous to even speak a word to you. You would not remember."

Though he had reached adulthood nearly two thousand years ago, that did not satisfy him. "How did we meet?" he pressed. "_When_ exactly did we meet?"

Dynala smiled and stepped past him, back out into the cold outside the barn. Nuada, not dissuaded, trailed her. She expounded as she walked. "When you were nine years old – I was seven then – my family and I joined the court at Bethmoora for a few months. That was when I met you and Mr. Wink. And to answer your other question, yes, you did know my father. He trained you for a time while we were there."

She disappeared into a chicken coop. Nuada heard her scattering grain for the birds, but his mind was elsewhere. The only trainer he had learned under besides the court instructors and Mr. Wink was….. Dynala rejoined him, and he studied her features. Of course. He was an idiot for not seeing it sooner – her hair, skin, and eyes were just like his. "You are the daughter of Lord Quinlan Strong Tree," he stated, slightly awed. Now he could vaguely remember the slender girl – always silent, always half-hidden in her father's shadow, but strongly resembling her bear-of-a-man father. "He stood over seven feet tall," Nuada reminisced softly. "He was _huge_, as big around as an old tree. I remember thinking that he could eat three of me. And _strong!_" Nuada shook his head incredulously at the memory. "He could pick up a horse! He was a devil with an axe – he could fell three men in one swing."

He also remembered Quinlan's wife, Lady Alanis, raven-haired, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and beautiful, who was so slender that her husband could encircle her waist with his hands. She had been a healer with a gentle voice and cool, soothing hands. Their son Glendon had been his age; Nuada and he had become friends. He had missed them all when they had returned to their lands, commonly known as the Greenwood.

And he remembered the day two years ago, when news had come from the Greenwood that an attack had been launched against Strong Tree's home – that Quinlan, Alanis, Glendon, and many of their people had been slain by humans seeking more land. Of Strong Tree's family, only their daughter had survived. Those brutal murders had been the final straw, the spark that had ignited the smoldering resentment the Fae bore against the humans. Nuada's father had finally declared war, and the Golden Army had been built. But now the war had been terminated – her family's death had been for naught. Wink _had_ said that Dynala had wept bitterly when she had heard news of the treaty…... "I am sorry," Nuada whispered, "that your family has not had justice."

Dynala sighed quietly, forlorn, but she smiled as well. "Do you want to know what I spoke of when I said that my father was right about you?"

Nuada had almost forgotten that, and though he could feel her politely changing the subject, he _did_ want to know. "Yes, I am curious," he admitted.

Now Dynala's smiled broadened. "When we were at court, he would return to our quarters after training you and say, 'The prince has enough fire in him to take on the world singlehandedly, and one day he'll have the skill to do it!' He liked you very much, and it makes me happy to see that he was right." She brushed past him and started toward a pen with about ten sheep in it. "Although," she added lightly, "getting into a fight only three days after you took your foot off death's threshold_ might_ not have been the best idea." As Nuada came to stand beside her, she dumped what remained of the grain into a trough for the sheep. "Nevertheless," she murmured, a sudden surprising vulnerability in her voice, "thank you for defending me." She glanced up at him shyly. "I _was _starting to get somewhat irritated with them."

Nuada cocked his head. "Then you are better at controlling your temper than I am. You looked the very essence of tranquility. You are very like your mother," he realized suddenly. True, Dynala had her father's coloring and height – though Nuada stood six and a half feet tall, the top of her head was even with his chin – but she had her mother's air of infinite patience; her goodwill; and, of course, her skill for healing. She had her mother's willowy frame, as well. Nuada's hands were not as large as Quinlan's had been; but he would not have been surprised if his hands could encompass Dynala's waist. Before he could think to stop himself, his eyes lowered speculatively to her torso, and he seriously pondered whether he could do it. A wild impulse to attempt it struck his fancy.

And then the impropriety of the idea struck him, and he quickly looked away from her. Behold the noble Prince Nuada, he thought wrathfully at himself, who defends her virtue one moment, then ogles her and contemplates touching her the next! Being so capricious was very unlike him.

But luckily Dynala did not seem to notice. At least, she did not slap him as he would have deserved if he had voiced his strange whim. Instead, she scrutinized him and nodded once slightly, a satisfied smile on her face. "Thank you. You are recovering well. I am gratified." Then she just walked away, leaving him somewhat baffled once again. She put the bucket back in the barn and began attending to a garden filled with herb and vegetable plants.

For a moment, Nuada stood awkwardly by the sheep pen. His chivalry told him to help her with her work, but he was a _warrior_, not a farmer. He would probably do more damage than good. Then he trudged through the snow back to the door of Dynala's home. He made his way back to his room and picked up his spear, twirling it slowly in his hands. She had said that he was recovering well. It was time to see just_ how_ well. After all, he could not stay there much longer; he had a mission to complete.

He went back outside and, once he had made sure he had enough room, began a slow, elementary practice routine – not "overdoing it" as Dynala had cautioned. It felt heavenly to stretch his muscles again! For about fifteen minutes, he avoided anything too strenuous. But when he did not feel tired after that, he toyed with the idea of stepping up the pace.

He very nearly discarded it. Perhaps he would have continued at his slow pace, but as he spun and slashed an imaginary foe, his eyes brushed over Dynala, kneeling in her garden, and she was watching him.

Maybe he wanted to prove his strength to the woman who had nursed him back to health. Maybe, since she had seen him so weak, he wanted to demonstrate that he was not. Either way, he moved faster, pushing his body a little harder. That was not enough, either. He commanded his spear to extend to its full length, and he began to drill in earnest until his spear was a silver blur around him and snow flew in all directions from the force of his movements.

_Easy_, Mr. Wink's voice instructed from behind him. _Don't push yourself too far_.

Hearing the wisdom in Wink's suggestion, Nuada slowed back into a beginner's pace to cool down. After another ten minutes, he stopped completely. He was breathing harder than he normally would have been, and he was a little light headed, but he felt adequate – well enough to travel.

He looked back at Dynala, who had resumed gardening once he had stopped. A strange feeling – anxiety? – curled in his stomach as he contemplated telling her his intention to leave. Ignoring the odd sensation – Dynala knew what he had to do for his people – Nuada approached the garden fence.

Dynala had heard the snow crunching under his feet. She dusted off her hands and sat back on her haunches, looking up at him somberly. "When will you leave?" she asked quietly.

She never failed to surprise him. But he supposed that the determination on his face must have told her all she needed to know. "Tomorrow," he told her, making sure that his voice and face stayed blank. "I am well enough."

"Yes, you are," she concurred with a nod. "I would ask, though, that you rest for the rest of the day, just to be sure." Her eyes lit up with inspiration. "I could give you the book I mentioned yesterday."

A hint of dizziness still tugged at his head, though Nuada would never admit it. Still, it prompted him to accept. "Yes. Thank you, Dynala."

At once, she leapt to her feet and flitted back into her house, beckoning for Nuada to follow. He did, and she led him through the great room and to a door that was on the opposite side of the house from his room. She opened it and slipped inside, but she did not close it behind her.

A quick peek through the partially open door revealed a full bookshelf along one wall, a loom pushed against another wall, and a bed. A shift was draped over the back of the lone chair. Nuada took a step away from the door, fighting the heat he could feel creeping up his face and neck. It was only a room, only a garment; there was absolutely no reason to blush. It was good that he was leaving in the morning; being here seemed to be tampering with his sanity.

Dynala emerged, closed the door behind her, and handed him a thick book. "This might appeal to you more than the last one," she informed him, grinning.

She went back outside to finish working. He remained in the great room, seated before the fire, and read.

"_A gentle knight was pricking on the plain, clad in mighty arms and silver shield, wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, the cruel marks of many a bloody field….."_

Nuada read of the knight, his battles against horrific evils, and his quests given by the Faerie Queen Gloriana. Dynala had been correct – he liked this book better. It was pure fiction, of course; Nuada knew the genealogy of the royal family – _his_ family – by heart, and there had never been a monarch named Gloriana. Still, he could relate to the knight's desire to better himself. For hours, he read.

He only glanced up from the book when Mr. Wink entered the house. _Dynala said that she'll be making lunch soon_, he rumbled.

Nuada's stomach rumbled, too. "Good," he murmured, already beginning to read again, "I'm hungry."

But as Mr. Wink shook off the snow, singing floated through the open doorway. "_O chì, chì mi na mórbheanna! O chì, chì mi na córrbheanna! O chì, chì mi na coireachan! Chì mi na sgoran fo chèo!_"

Immediately his attention shifted to the sound. Dynala had a beautiful voice, and as she sang the Gaelic song of homecoming, he felt wistful for his home, for the Golden Hall he could not return to. But then Mr. Wink closed the door again, and Nuada could hear no more of the song. Resolutely, Nuada resumed reading, doing his best to keep Dynala's lovely voice from ringing in his memory.


	7. Move Along

The next morning, Nuada and Wink woke early. Dynala was already awake; she had prepared breakfast for them and filled Mr. Wink's pack with food, bandages, a few medicinal salves – anything she thought they might need on the road. Nuada was grateful, for in his hurt and anger at his father he had left without any supplies.

When they had finished eating, Mr. Wink took up his pack, Nuada slid his spear into the sheath across his back, and they crossed Dynala's threshold for the last time. Dawn was just starting to break; all was still in the pre-dawn quiet. Mr. Wink bade Dynala goodbye. Then it was his turn.

As Nuada looked into Dynala's large, dark eyes, he felt a sudden rush of affection and sadness. He had grown strangely fond of her; he did not wish to leave what small peace he had attained after leaving his home and family. But, as the saying went, if wishes were pies, no one would starve. His desires were not a priority; what mattered was his people, and they needed him to leave, find the last Crown piece, and stop humanity's voracious devouring of the earth. So he steeled himself and spoke his words of farewell. "Thank you for all that you have done for us. I will never forget it, or you."

Dynala's smile was neither happy nor sorrowful, but a mixture of the two. "It was an honor to aid you, Your Highness. And I owe _you_ thanks for what you have done – what you _will_ do." She placed her hands on Nuada's shoulders. "May the road rise up to meet you," she murmured. "May the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields." A magical timbre rang in her voice as she spoke the words of blessing over him and his journey.

Etiquette dictated that he return blessing for blessing, and while Nuada usually scorned the empty practices of deportment, he found that he greatly desired to follow this one. His war-scarred hands came to rest on her shoulders then, and his eyes never left hers as he spoke. "May good luck be your friend in all you do." The tenderness in his own voice startled him a little, but he continued. "And may trouble always be a stranger to you."

For a moment, neither of them moved. Mr. Wink stared, slightly stunned, at the two of them standing perfectly still in the snow, their hands grasping each other's shoulders, their gazes locked. But before he could think too much of it, Nuada moved, breaking the poetry of the scene.

He squeezed her shoulders lightly, companionably. "Goodbye, Dynala," he said. Why was his voice so soft? he wondered. His hands fell to his sides, and he stepped away from her, turning around and walking toward the tree line. Wink silently fell in step next to him.

Like he had when he had left his father and sister, Nuada paused to look back when he had reached the trees.

Dynala was watching him still. He saw her smile and raise a hand in a small wave. "Goodbye, Prince."

Quashing the deep sadness in his chest, Nuada turned his back to Dynala and stepped into the forest. It was time to keep his promise to his people.

But he never forgot the look in her eyes as she blessed him.


	8. Lost

Ash. It rained from the sky. It settled in his hair, on his clothes. Nuada could smell it, _taste_ it – even feel its grit in his eyes. He stood in it. It was all around him. And at the rate that his heart and soul were burning, it would soon be _inside_ him, as well.

He had spent one week at Dynala's home, healing. Another week had been spent tracking down the human who had taken the last Crown piece. They had found the town where it was supposed to have been protected. But the only thing that was left of the settlement was ash and the charred remains of buildings.

Nuada and Wink walked through the wreckage silently. A fire must have started some time ago and spread, Nuada thought. The humans must have moved on; so many of them feared ghosts, and judging by the number of fresh graves he had seen, many had died in the blaze.

Breathing hard in rage, frustration, and pain, Nuada turned to Mr. Wink. "There may still be hope. The piece might still be here." There was a forest to their left. Nuada's eyes scanned it briefly before returning to the rubble. "Go into the woods. Find some Fae to help sift through this… _mess_. I will wait here."

Wink obeyed without a word. The prince was in no mood to be spoken to or comforted, he knew _that_ for certain. The only thing that would help now was to do what he said and let the search continue. He lumbered away, looking back occasionally at Nuada – the elf did not budge at all.

The truth was that Nuada feared that he would lose control of his raging emotions if he so much as twitched. Please let it be here, he prayed. Please. _Please_.

_Brother? _The word, spoken so gently in his mind, was like a blow, a knife to his heart. _I am sorry that I did not speak to you while you were ill – Father said to give you time._ _Are you well?_

Was he _well?_ Nuada ground his teeth and tried not to weep. Nuala had not meant to hurt him, he knew. But hearing her voice, feeling her love for him, while knowing that he could not see her was agony. _No_, he answered shortly, trying to shield her as best he could from his pain.

She felt it anyway. _You do not have to do this_, she whispered pleadingly. _I miss you. Come home. Father and I would forgive you_.

A touch of stinging betrayal and anger seared his already aching heart. _I do not _need_ to be forgiven. I have done __nothing_ wrong_, Sister!_ Despair welled up in him like a black wave. _Can you not understand?_

He felt the echo of Nuala's own dejection. _No._ He knew that it pained her to say that, but he also knew that she would never lie to him. Whether that was a blessing or a curse, he wasn't sure. _No, I cannot, Brother_.

_Oh, Sister_….. If she had ripped his heart out with her bare hands, it would have hurt less than that. She had _always_ understood him… _I cannot come home!_ He cried, half-crazed with pain. _I do not _have_ a home!_

_You will _always_ have a home_, she corrected him, love and heartache in her voice. _When you are ready to leave behind your blinding hatred, it will be waiting for you_.

She left him then, and as much as he loved her, he was glad. His raw, throbbing heart could only take so much before it shattered beyond repair. A hot tear made a clean track in the ash on his face. Roughly he wiped it away. Perhaps his heart had already reached that point, he thought. But no – only a week ago, he had felt some small peace. Remembering reading before a fire and recalling kind, understanding russet eyes set in a celadon face brought a fraction of that placidity back. It was just enough to keep him from coming apart at the seams, but it was something.

After an hour, Mr. Wink returned, not at all surprised to see Nuada standing in the exact same place. About fifty Fae – mostly brownies, pixies, and sprites – trailed in his wake. They stopped when they saw Nuada and bowed deeply to him. The Fae who lived on the edges of Faerie society, the ones who were truly endangered by human expansion, almost unanimously supported the Crown Prince.

The statue that was Nuada finally stirred. "Thank you all for coming, my friends," he said. "As you know, the king dismantled the Crown and gave one piece to humankind. This," he gestured to the desolate scene around them, "is where it was taken. I am hoping that it is here still." His golden eyes roamed over the Faeries who had answered his call. "Will you help me search for it?"

A chorus of "_Ayes_" and "_Of course, Sires_" answered him. Relief swamped him for a moment, but then he regained control over himself. "Thank you." He turned toward the burned village and stifled a sigh. "Let us begin. Be thorough, but be careful, also, for I would see none of you hurt."

And so the work began. Because most of the Fae who had come were small, Mr. Wink and Nuada had to lift most of the beams and roofs that had not burned up. Then, once those had been cast aside, the little ones would scurry in and filter through the ash and debris. It was hard work; though it was winter, Nuada soon discarded his shirt.

After several hours, Nuada called for a rest. Everyone drank from a nearby river; since most of the Fae had brought food in preparation for a long stay, they ate. But Nuada noticed that one dryad did not leave the ruins. After drinking, he quietly walked back to where she was, hunched over a large, thick, charred wooden beam. Nuada frowned in concern; she was crying.

"Are you hurt?" Nuada croaked – the ash in the air had made his throat sore.

The dryad's tearful eyes met his. Her nut-brown face was twisted in misery. "This was my sister," she explained brokenly. "They chopped her down, they….. And now look at her." She averted her gaze, and another tear splashed onto the beam.

Nuada almost wept with her. How much grief would these humans cause until they were exterminated? How many Fae would have to die before the race of men was stopped? "I am sorry." He whispered the condolence, his heart heavy.

Hot, wet eyes flashed up to his. "_Do not be sorry!_" the dryad hissed, her fists clenching, her mouth snarling. "Be angry! Be _furious!_ _Avenge us_ – kill them _all!_" With that, she jumped to her feet and stalked away, tears still pouring down her face.

Nuada could forgive her disregard for his station; whenever he was confronted with evidence of human destruction, he too alternated between crushing sorrow and blinding rage. But even as he brushed aside the dryad's disrespect, her words haunted his memory. _Be angry!_ He could do that. _Kill them all!_ His heart simmered with rage and determination. He _would_ do that.

For the rest of the day, the group labored to no avail. By the time the sun set, they had scoured the village twice, but the Crown piece was nowhere to be found. His heart as dead as the ashes around him, Nuada thanked the Faeries and bid them return home.

_What now?_ Wink asked.

Nuada shrugged. He was exhausted. "We keep looking," he replied flatly. "We turn the very _world_ inside out if we have to." He stretched, his back and shoulders popping, and forced himself to think. "We'll start with the neighboring villages and work our way outward. But we _cannot_ stop until we find it." The prince looked down at himself and grimaced – he was so completely covered in ash, his skin looked grey instead of white. "I must bathe. Then we will eat and sleep. We begin searching tomorrow."

Prince Nuada Silver Lance had his flaws, but indecision was not one of them. True to his word, the very next day the search began. But not even Nuada could imagine how long it would last.


	9. The Return

_**One Thousand Years Later**_

Things have changed, Nuada thought numbly, staring down at the valley. He should not have been surprised – after all, one thousand years had passed since he had last stood in this spot, and he, of all people, knew how much damage humans could do in a millennium. He had seen examples of their greed all over the world; why, then, had he for some reason thought that this place would be spared?

Dully, his eyes took in the bustling city at the feet of the mountains. Summer had arrived; the humans were busily preparing for the harvest. Nuada's black mouth tightened. Were all those people, so wrapped up in their own lives, even aware that one thousand years ago, in this very spot, King Balor had made a truce with their kind? One thousand years ago, Nuada had stormed furiously through the nearby woods – which were now depleted, lost to the humans' "progress." One thousand years ago, not far from here, he had met Dynala in her small, peaceful home…

As he had promised, Nuada had never forgotten her. He _had_, however, thought of her only sparingly; only when the burning of loneliness and failure was overwhelming would he remember the days he had spent with her to soothe the ache – as though the memories were sacred relics that would lose potency with overuse.

Mr. Wink knew what he was thinking, as usual. _I bet she's still there_, he said. _Why don't we stop for a day or two and see her? _

Nuada did not show how much the thought tempted him. For a thousand years, they had never stopped; he was weary to his very bones. To rest would be divine. To see her face again… But he could not stop. To stop would be to admit defeat. How then could he look Dynala in the eyes? "No." Nuada's voice was inflectionless, dead. He stared at the horizon for a moment, at the setting sun. "It is twilight; we will stop here for the night and continue in the morning."

Mr. Wink heaved a sigh. _We've searched here; we've been around the entire world, _he reminded the prince gently_. What makes you think that we'll find it this time?_

Nuada fought not to tremble. He was so _tired_. He looked back down at the city and thought of the forests the humans had chopped down to build it, trying desperately to fill himself with rage again, rage that would give him strength. He only succeeded in dredging up more sadness. Nuala had not spoken to him since he had stood in that disintegrated town all those years ago. He missed her terribly, her and his father. He wanted to go _home_, to have a _family _again. In his memory, his sister whispered_ You will _always_ have a home_. The prince took a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a rush. So many Fae had lost _their_ homes and families; could he live with himself if he succumbed to weakness and deserted their cause? No. He had to keep searching. "We will find it, my friend," he reassured Mr. Wink, though he was convincing himself, as well. "We _must_."

The next morning they set out again. Careful to skirt unseen around the city – though the idea of creeping made Nuada most irate – they made their way into the mountains. The cave they had slept in so long ago had collapsed; when they reached it, Mr. Wink pointed north, much deeper into the mountains than they intended to go. _Dynala's house is that way, about ten miles_, he said innocently.

Nuada resented the not-so-subtly-veiled hint. Dynala's home was hard enough to pass up without Wink's insinuations. He ground his teeth and set his face toward their course, not stopping his brisk pace.

Fate, as it would turn out, had other plans. For then, the preternatural hearing with which all elves are gifted picked up the sounds of coarse, harsh laughter. Nuada stilled, listening in disgust. Humans. As though they had not done enough, they had to be close enough to offend him with their braying. Then he heard what they were saying.

"You're sure you saw her up here, Oscar? Or were you telling tales?"

"Nay, boys, I saw her. A Faerie lady, she was. Pretty as can be if you don't mind green skin."

This comment produced a hearty round of guffaws while Nuada stood rooted in place. Surely they were not speaking of Dynala!

"You'd better be able to find the place again…"

Before Nuada could hear more, the wind changed and whisked the sound of their voices away. But he had heard enough – human men had seen a Fae woman and were looking for her again. Even if he had not been suddenly afraid for Dynala, he would have intervened.

Wink, who had just been trying to cajole the reluctant elf toward Dynala's house, now had to hurry to catch up with Nuada.

The furious, worried prince saved most of his breath for running. Only the occasional grunt for directions interrupted his intense focus. The Fae are blessed with incredible speed; and Prince Nuada ran so fast that, had he not already been dubbed Silver Lance, he would have been called Fleetfoot. After a while, Mr. Wink muttered something about cursed marathons, then called that they were maybe two miles away.

Nuada felt relief for a split second. Then an enraged scream tore through the mountain air. Human hoots and hollers followed it, and Nuada's blood froze in his veins. Even faster he ran, until Wink expected him to just start flying.

Another scream, this time a human male's, echoed through the trees, along with shouts of fury and horror. "She killed him!" one human cried. "You little wretch, you _killed_ him!"

Remembering the dagger Dynala carried, Nuada felt any remaining doubt that Dynala was their target vanish. Nuada was sure that Lord Quinlan, her father, would have taught her to defend herself – maybe she could hold them off until –

A loud crack, like a small peal of thunder split the air, as did a woman's sharp shriek of pain. Nuada's heart stopped, dread curling in his gut. Gunfire. He swore viciously and tried to run faster. Of all the evils man had invented in the past thousand years, firearms topped the list. If they had _killed_ her….. He would butcher them like the animals they were. They would beg for death _long_ before he acquiesced.

Finally he and Wink burst through the trees and into the clearing where Dynala lived. There was the barn, there was the sheep pen, and there was the small stone house. Four human men were there, as well. Two were dead, their throats cut. Another was nursing a deep stab wound in his side. A discarded pistol lay on the ground, its single shot expended. And there was Dynala, sprawled, unmoving, on the ground, with a dark stain of emerald blood soaking her ivory dress and the grass beneath her. The last man, clearly enraged, stood over her. As he cursed her, his hands fumbled to unfasten his belt.

A roar the likes of which even Mr. Wink had never heard before erupted from deep in Nuada's chest – a ringing, thunderous cry of hapless rage. Before the fourth man had time to do more than look up, Nuada had descended upon him, his spear swinging. The swine had time to feel the ice of terror run down his spine, but then his head was rent from his shoulders.

The man Dynala had stabbed tried to run like an execrable coward. With a snarl that curdled the human's blood, Nuada hurled his spear. It drove through the human's back and belly and pinned him to a pine tree, where he vomited up blood and died slowly and painfully.

Nuada, though he had imagined laughing while the cur screamed in agony, forgot all about him once he had ascertained that the human would die. Then he only had eyes for Dynala, who was unconscious. He rushed to her side and inspected the wound. Relief pulsed through him – the shot had only hit her shoulder. He ripped off his sash, wadded it into a bandage, and pressed it to the wound.

Red-brown eyes snapped open, and a wild gasp tore through green lips. She started to struggle fiercely, snarling. Nuada barely dodged the expertly-aimed blows she threw at him. "Dynala!" Nauda cried. "Dynala, it's all right – it's me!"

Breathing hard, eyes wide, she stilled and gaped at him. "_Prince Nuada?_" she whispered, shocked. "You….. you're _here!_"

"Yes," he soothed gently. "Yes, I am here. Tell me – are you hurt anywhere else besides your shoulder?"

She winced and groaned softly. "My head." Her fingers touched a spot just above her temple and came away coated in green blood.

Nuada barely restrained his temper at the sight, but there were more important things than honorable rage at the moment. "Wink, keep pressure on her shoulder," he ordered. And, making sure that Mr. Wink was pressing on the gaping hole in her shoulder, he scooped her up in his arms.

"Your Highness," Dynala protested quietly, flustered, "I was shot in the shoulder, not the leg. I can walk." He ignored her and kept moving. He hesitated once he was in the great room, not sure whether to take her to her room or to the sick room. "The sick room, please," she murmured. "Most of my supplies are there, anyway." Nuada obeyed and carefully set her down on the bed – the bed where he had slept one thousand years ago. It was strange to be back here, especially under these circumstances. Dynala seemed to sense his feelings; she smiled tightly at him. "The tables seem to have turned," she noted, "for I am the patient now." Then she became all business. "First we must remove the ball." Her face tightened in anticipation of the pain, and she nodded to the table in the corner – the same table, still covered with healing items, that he had seen when he was the one lying in that bed. "There are tweezers on the table."

As a warrior, Nuada had experience dealing with wounds. His hands were steady as he probed the gunshot wound and removed the ball with an accompanying rush of green blood. The blow to her head had been glancing and required nothing but cleaning. With Dynala's guidance, he crushed the proper herbs and ground them into a salve to ease the pain and ward off infection. Very carefully, hiding his discomfort over her pained winces behind a blank mask, he stitched her shoulder wound closed. The whole time, frantic Fae were bursting into her home, fearing that Dynala had been hurt. She thanked them, assured them that she would be fine, and requested that they spread the news – she needed rest, and, though she greatly appreciated their concern, rest would be very hard to come by if someone came knocking every ten minutes. Nuada listened to her speak with a repressed grin, thinking that she sounded like a politician.

Once Nuada had finished doctoring her wounds, Dynala rose shakily and went to her room to change into clean clothes. While she did that, Nuada – disquiet mounting in her absence – stalked back outside and jerked his spear from the corpse of the dead mortal; when he spied Dynala's dagger lying on the ground, he retrieved that, too. Back inside the house, seated before the familiar hearth, Nuada began to clean the weapons furiously, seeking relief from the built-up tension in his limbs and mind.

A soft clearing of a throat behind him made him stop. He looked up into large, gentle doe-eyes. Peace like a soothing flood filled him. Oh, but he had missed those eyes – and the understanding in them – more than he'd realized. "Thank you," Dynala whispered, and Nuada's heart wrenched to see tears sparkling beneath her eyelashes.

Nuada wanted to say something, to give voice to the unnamed emotions churning in his chest, but when words failed him, he just asked gruffly, "How do you feel?"

Dynala did not seem to be bothered by his lack of verbosity. She smiled and sat in the chair next to his. "I feel well, all things considered." It was a basic conversation, harmless small talk. But then she turned the power of those intense, tender eyes on him and asked, "How do _you_ feel?" Her voice was so kind, so concerned….. It made him want to tell her the truth. The walls he had built around himself shook. He glanced around the room, looking for Mr. Wink, a distraction, anything. Dynala interrupted his search. "Mr. Wink is outside, tending to the animals like I was before I was… disturbed." Her eyes bored into his, and he could not look away. "You do not always have to be invincible. In fact," here she smiled slightly, "I prefer the prince who is _not_ made from stone." Nuada could not stop the upward twitching of the corners of his mouth. "So, how are you?" Dynala repeated.

A sigh escaped him without permission. "Tired," he breathed, closing his eyes. "Angry. Frustrated." He took a deep, shaking breath. "I haven't found the piece of the Crown. I've been searching for a thousand years, and _nothing_." He rubbed his eyes hard, despair leaking into his voice, but now that he had begun speaking he could not stop. "Humans expand their borders every day, Fae are _dying_ every day, and _I can't find it!_" The exiled prince ground his teeth until he could speak with some measure of composure. Then, very quietly, he said, "My people must hate me – I promised them freedom, and one thousand years later, I _still_ have not delivered it."

Warm fingers touched his hand, tugging it softly away from his face until his eyes were no longer hidden. Dynala was looking somberly at him. She held his gaze for a long moment, and then said, very slowly. "You have not given up. You have been looking for _one thousand years_, but you have _never_ given up. Your people know that – they know that you have tirelessly searched when others would have returned home after _half_ that time." Nuada looked away, thinking that he had often been tempted to do just that – give up and go home. But lightly her fingertips caught his chin and made him look into her eyes. "We know that you are trying," she whispered. Her hand moved to cup his face delicately, barely touching his skin. The contact, though admittedly somewhat… _forward_, was comforting; no one had touched him kindly since he had gone into exile. Mr. Wink gave him the occasional slap on the back, but this was different, softer. The next second, Dynala's hand dropped away, leaving his skin cooler in its absence. She smiled again and concluded, "And that is all anyone can ask of you."


	10. A Friend

The next morning, a goblin came to Dynala's house while Nuada, Dynala, and Wink were eating breakfast. Looking very nervous, he asked the Prince if he could speak to him – privately. Nuada consented and got up from the table to follow him back outside.

Once outside, the goblin cleared his throat and squirmed. His face was pale. Nuada frowned curiously and waited. Drawing in a deep breath, the goblin began. "My name is Corrigan. I must ask something of you, and I hope that you will not be angry."

"What is it you want?" Nuada inquired warily.

The goblin's large hands twisted his hat nervously. "Well – people know that you saved my lady yesterday and stayed the night, and – forgive me, Sire – they are beginning to… talk."

Nuada's brows snapped down even further. "_Talk?_" he repeated darkly. This did not bode well.

The goblin swallowed. "Yes, Sire. They begin to say things – about you and my lady. _Untrue_ things – I know that you and my lady both are honorable – but some smart-mouthed fool has been sayin' that the two of you are – "

"I understand," Nuada growled, seething at the insult to Dynala's repute. "Give me the liar's name, and I will take care of him."

Corrigan chuckled, still uneasy. "That would please me to no end, but it might not help the lady if people thought you were _too_ zealous to protect her. Please, listen. If you intend to stay here, I live about three miles from here; if you would agree, you could stay there. It's close enough to my lady that you could still see her often, but the biddies would shut their traps." His offer on the table, Corrigan fidgeted and blinked up at the prince.

"Thank you," Nuada replied, surprised. "But I am not alone; my friend Mr. Wink is with me. Have you room for a troll?"

Corrigan grinned. "I have done very well for myself in these mountains, if I do say so myself. I've enough room for him, I assure you."

Nuada sighed sharply, thinking. He had not though that his presence could hurt Dynala. He could – probably _should_ – leave. He was honor-bound to protect Dynala's virtue and to ensure his people's freedom; he should leave and continue his search for the Crown piece. But now that he was here, he was loathe to leave just yet. Would just a few days of rest be wrong? "Your proposal is well-meant; I thank you for the lady's sake. But I have not yet decided whether I will stay after today. Let me consider it." Still frowning, Nuada walked away, back into the house.

Dynala looked up from her food when he reentered the kitchen. When she saw his brooding expression, the smile that had been playing on her lips vanished. "What did Corrigan want?" she asked guardedly.

"I must apologize," Nuada ground out stiffly. "It appears that my being here has sparked injurious rumors about you."

A dark green flush swept up her neck and face. "_Cavan!_" she snarled lowly. "I should have guessed this would happen."

Nuada's scowl darkened until it was like a thundercloud; he remembered well the gancanagh who had harassed Dynala when he had been here the first time. "Your little pest has something to do with this?"

"When the forests were destroyed, all the Fae were driven to this area. Unfortunately, Cavan was one of them. He has been very pesky, telling tales and spreading rumors. No one believed him, of course, but now…" Her mouth hardened; she did not have to say "now that you've returned, they have begun to believe him"; Nuada understood. But he also knew that Dynala did not blame him. She tugged lightly on her braid as she pondered the situation. "If I had known what trouble he would cause, I might have let you fight him that first time," she muttered.

A feral approximation of a smile, thin and harsh, spread across Nuada's face. "I would be _delighted_ to oblige you now," he proffered.

Trilling laughter burst from Dynala. "I am tempted to accept! But that would do little good."

"Corrigan has offered to let me stay with him," Nuada told her, careful to keep his voice disinterested. "But I think it would be best if I left. After all, I need to continue…"

Dynala had looked up at him, shocked, and he trailed off. "Already?" she asked.

Not very inconspicuously, Mr. Wink stood and left. _I'll go take care of the animals, _he grunted over his shoulder. Then he was gone, and Nuada and Dynala were alone, staring silently at each other.

Finally Nuada shrugged, though he felt anything but calm and decided. "It would solve your problem. And I cannot stay; I must free my people. You know that."

Her composure firmly in place once more, Dynala nodded calmly. "I do. But no road extends forever without so much as a pause. Stay, if only for a few days, and rest; then return to your search with a clear mind and refreshed body." She smirked. "And as for the problem of the gossipers, I am not afraid of a few rumors. Let them talk – _we_ know the truth, do we not?"

Nuada's mind resisted – logically, he knew that leaving was the best option. But his deeper self was of a different opinion, and in the battle between the two, his mind was rapidly losing ground. At last, he relented and agreed to stay for three days. When Dynala beamed like he had handed her a priceless treasure, he found it impossible to regret his choice.

Nuada and Wink moved into Corrigan's house that afternoon. To get there, they had to walk through what remained of the mountain woods. To Nuada and Wink's surprise, they encountered a lively Fae village on the way. _I didn't know there was a town here_, Wink said, stunned.

A passing green wood elf – like Dynala – heard the remark and replied in the troll language. _There wasn't. But when the humans began invading the forest, we were forced together._ He bowed perfunctorily to the prince and went on his way.

Nuada and Wink continued until they reached a very large, very fine house. Appraisingly, Wink muttered, _Aye, they have room enough for me – they have room enough for _four_ of me_.

Nuada grinned. "Well, Corrigan said that he had done well for himself," he reminded the troll as he knocked on the heavy, beautifully carved wooden door.

A goblin woman in an apron answered it – and promptly shrieked when she saw the Crown Prince of Bethmoora. Nuada and Wink jumped. "I'll kill him!" she howled; and she whirled back around and dashed down a hallway shouting, "_Corrigan!_" as she went.

Left standing at the doorway, Nuada turned quizzically to Wink. The troll shrugged, shaking with laughter. _It looks to me as though Master Corrigan failed to mention his invitation to his wife_. From within the house came snatches of a wailing complaint: "Why didn't you _tell _me… Me in my apron… The house is _filthy_…"

"Stop your moaning, woman… Where is he?" There was a beat of silence. Then, "YOU MEAN YOU _LEFT_ HIM STANDING AT _MY_ DOOR LIKE A _BEGGAR?_"

Not a moment later, a scarlet-faced Corrigan was ushering Nuada and Wink inside. "Forgive Ornat, my wife," he muttered as they walked. "She's just a bit… high-strung, sometimes. The guest wing is this way." A wide-eyed goblin child peeked out from behind a corner. "That's my daughter, Tara. The great room is just through there." Another goblin girl, older than the first, was sitting in a chair in the great room, sewing. "That's my other daughter, Tierney. The washroom is here." As they passed the door to which he had gestured opened, revealing a startled goblin young lady. "This here's my girl Tullia." Tullia curtsied hastily as they went on. Nuada and Wink exchanged glances as yet another child – also a girl – squealed at the sight of them and darted away down one of the many halls. "Oh," Corrigan added, "and that's my girl Trevina. Your rooms are here," he concluded, pointing at two doors.

"Thank you, Corrigan. I appreciate what you have done for Lady Dynala," Nuada said sincerely.

Corrigan grinned. "I would do just about anything for her – without her, my youngest daughter, Tipper, would have died last year."

_Another girl?_ Wink rumbled incredulously. _Bless him, how many does he _have_?_

Corrigan grinned broadly, mischievously. "I speak the language of trolls, Mr. Wink. And to answer your question, I have seven daughters. My two eldest, Tristianna and Teria, are married; they live along the coast."

Shaking his head mournfully at the thought of living with all those females, Wink sighed. _What did you get us into?_ he demanded.

His trepidation was ungrounded, however. When the family sat down to lunch, all the girls were well-behaved. Nuada had never exactly been what one would call comfortable around children, but, despite that, all the girls were very polite; Tipper – who was probably around three years old – in particular took quite a liking to him, insisting that she wanted to sit next to him. She kept up a steady stream of conversation throughout the meal. Just as Ornat was clearing the table, Tipper looked up at Nuada with large green eyes and asked "Are you going to be here for the solstice? It's in two days. There's going to be a big party, and Father says I can stay up late if I want to."

Still slightly uncertain about dealing with a child, Nuada smiled. "Yes, I will go." He would probably leave the next morning.

Tipper laughed and clapped her hands, then went off to play with her sisters. Corrigan sighed and patted his stomach. "Good cooking, Wife," he congratulated, getting up to kiss Ornat on the cheek.

Ornat blushed and hustled away, and Corrigan turned to Nuada. "That Tipper of mine is a chatterbox like her father," he admitted. "If she gets too garrulous, just tune her out, Your Highness; she won't notice, and if she does, she won't mind."

Nuada couldn't help but smile; he had found Tipper amusing. Indeed, he liked Corrigan as well, and Tullia and Tierney seemed very intelligent. It was not so bad here.

But still, he greatly preferred Dynala's small, quiet house and peaceful company.


	11. Blood

The next morning, Nuada left Corrigan's house and walked back to Dynala's secluded cottage. Mr. Wink and Corrigan, who was a blacksmith, were discussing Wink's mechanical hand. Though Nuada was an avid tinkerer – he was the one who had built Wink's hand in the first place – who would have normally relished the chance to talk about gears and whatnot, he felt oddly desperate to be with Dynala before he left.

He almost missed her; she had just been about to leave. "I am running low on willow bark," she explained. "I need to go to the river, where the willow trees grow, to collect more."

Nuada' smile, which had appeared at the sight of Dynala, vanished. The day after she had been attacked, she intended to venture into the woods alone? Nuada frowned. "Forgive me, but your going alone seems unwise considering your recent mishap. I will go with you." His honor demanded it. Nuada looked hard at her shoulder and temple, searching for any signs that she was unwell. "How are your injuries faring?" he asked concernedly.

Dynala smiled teasingly. "I _am_ a healer," she reminded him as she started walking. Nuada caught up and walked by her side. "My body has automatically supplied constant magic to my wounds. They will probably be healed by the solstice." Her eyes lit up. "Speaking of which, there is going to be a celebration; will you come?"

"Tipper already invited me," he informed her. "I told her that I would attend."

A twinkle glimmered in her eyes. "Did she manage to talk your ears off?"

Nuada laughed. "It was a near thing!" More seriously, he added, "I like her; she is kind."

Dynala agreed wholeheartedly, and the two of them chatted companionably all the way to the river.

Once they entered the grove of willows, however, Dynala was almost entirely absorbed with them. She approached the largest, oldest tree and gently laid her hand against its trunk. Her eyes closed. In that moment, magic filled the air like a static charge, prickling against Nuada's skin. The trees around them seemed to sigh and lean in closer – leaning toward Dynala. A smile flickered on her lips, and the creases of intense focus formed on her brow.

Nuada watched in awe. He had forgotten that, with the death of her father and older brother, Dynala had become the Lady of the Greenwood, connected to the whole forest and able to communicate with the trees. A stab of sympathy hurt his heart – how had she been able to bear the deforestation, the destruction of so much of the Greenwood?

Dynala's eyes opened. With a murmured thanks to the tree, she flitted back to Nuada. "They have given us permission to take some of their bark," she whispered, her face happy and peaceful. "Just be gentle, please."

They quickly filled the leather pouch Dynala had brought with strips of willow bark. "Is this enough?" Nuada asked, whispering as Dynala had done before. The magic was still humming in the air.

She was about to answer; she breathed in, and her mouth opened.

A shrill scream ripped through the quiet, tranquil atmosphere. Their heads whipped toward the sound. Dynala's hand flashed out to touch a bough of a tree. She gasped, and the next thing Nuada knew, she had taken off running through the trees, the pouch of willow bark dropped and forgotten.

Nuada sprinted after her, but she wove through the trees as fleetly as a deer, and Nuada found that he could not catch her. The river next to them began to roar – they were coming to the rapids. The screams continued to assault his ears – unmistakably, undeniably, infuriatingly _human_. "He fell in – _he fell in!_ _Get him!_ He's _drowning!_" A human woman was sobbing and wailing, "_My son, my baby!_"

Their voices were so _close!_ Nuada's stomach was in knots – what was Dynala _doing?_ She was running straight toward them! But no matter how hard he pushed his legs, he could not reach her and stop her.

As they burst into a small clearing, Nuada caught a glimpse of three humans – a man, a woman, and a youth – all waist-deep in the water, trying to keep their footing in the raging, foaming river. They seemed to be attempting to walk deeper, but every time they tried, the current swept their feet out from under them.

The woman screamed again when she saw Dynala racing toward them. "_Dynala!_" Nuada shouted in panic. She didn't listen to him – and then she dove straight into the churning water. She disappeared beneath the surface, and she did not come up. Nuada jumped in after, though he opted to keep his head above water in case the humans attacked. Only because he was stronger than the humans was he able to keep his footing. "Dynala!" he cried again. She had not come up for air – how long could she stay under water?

Just when terror was about to incapacitate him, her head broke the surface. Gasping in a deep breath and shaking tendrils of wet hair out of her eyes, she started to swim to the riverbank. Nuada plowed through the water after. Through his relief, he wondered why she was only using one arm to swim.

Then, with her other arm, she hauled the drenched head of a little human boy out of the river water.

She reached the bank and managed to sling the child up onto it – she was stronger than she looked. She jumped out, rushing to the child's side, and Nuada was right behind her. "What are you _doing?_" he demanded, reeling in confusion. He had kept one eye on the boy's family; they were struggling to extract themselves from the river – Nuada knew that they would descend upon them as soon as they could. "Leave him!" Once again, Dynala ignored him. She pressed her ear against the boy's chest. Nuada could have told her not to bother – death hung around the child like a specter.

But she laid her right palm over the boy's heart and her left hand on his forehead. "Breathe!" she cried frantically. It was more than an empty plea; Nuada could hear the shivers of a magical command crackle in the air. The child's body jolted sharply as his lungs were forced to contract. Water spewed from his nose and mouth.

And his eyes opened. Spastically coughing to clear his water-logged lungs, he instinctively tried to roll over. Dynala helped him onto his hands and knees and supported him gently when his small limbs buckled.

Astonished, Nuada watched. The child had been _dead_; he had sensed it.

The boy heaved and vomited up even more water. Dynala laughed once, the sound weak with relief. "There's dead – and then there's _dead_," she explained. She looked up from the hacking boy to smile brilliantly at him, but her eyes caught on something behind him and widened suddenly.

Nuada needed no more warning than that. In one sinuous movement, he spun, unsheathed his spear, and slashed out. The human man – probably the boy's father – who had been barreling toward Nuada barely managed to jump back in time to keep the tip of Nuada's spear from gutting him.

Nuada planted his feet and snarled blackly at the human. "One more step and you die," he promised.

The man trembled. "Don't hurt my boy!" he pleaded.

His black lips curling in disdain, Nuada snapped, "If she had wanted to hurt him, she would have left him at the bottom of the river, you fool."

The man's wife was right behind him; she too tried to pass Nuada, but he would die before he let a human get too close to Dynala. The human man snatched his woman back just before Nuada cut her throat. She was not as calm as her husband. "Get away from him, you witch!" she screamed piercingly. "You _monster_, you – "

"Be silent!" Nuada barked viciously, placing the edge of his spear against her jugular. Fury pulsed through him, a living thing clamoring for the woman's blood. Dynala had saved her son's life, and _this_ was how the human thanked her? Ungrateful, disrespectful _swine_. "Woman or not, I will kill you without compunction if you say one more word!"

"Prince," the soft word spoken from behind him advised temperance. His teeth snapped together. Only Dynala would defend her defamer.

Still, the furious Prince of Bethmoora backed off slightly. But not without having the last word. "If she is your wife, I pity you," he growled at the man. "She shrieks like a _Bean Sidhe_."

"Your Highness," Dynala said – almost _chidingly_. Then, for the first time, the boy managed to draw in a full breath without coughing. "Are you all right?" Dynala murmured.

There was a beat of silence as the boy took in her pointed ears and green skin. "Yes, Lady," he croaked. "Thank you." Well, at least _he_ had manners, unlike his parents who had fallen silent to listen to their conversation.

"Good," Dynala said, a smile in her voice. Still kneeling by the child's side, she tilted his chin up with one finger. "What is your name?"

"Don't tell her!" his mother shrieked in horror. "She'll enslave you! She'll –"

"_Hear me!_" Dynala did not shout, but her voice carried as much authority as Nuada's. When the squawking woman had quieted, she continued more softly. "I am Dynala, Lady of the Greenwood. A debt of blood is established between us this day. I may have need of you in the future, and you or your descendants might be able to answer my need and thereby absolve the balance. I swear that I will not use your name to harm you. Tell me your name."

"Sean O'Farrell," the boy rasped.

Dynala smiled. "Thank you." She stood then, helping Sean to his feet. Nuada was very careful to keep himself between her and the humans. When Dynala looked Sean's parents, her smile vanished. "Have not your people taken enough of this forest?" she demanded coldly. "There are rivers further down the mountain. Use _them_. _This_ place is ours; do not return."

Nuada and Dynala left then, Nuada never turning his back to the humans. They retrieved Dynala's pouch of willow bark and started the walk back to her home.

For five minutes, Dynala allowed Nuada to seethe in silence. Then, with a sigh, she stopped. "You are angry with me." It was not a question.

"Very." His answer was clipped and terse.

She nodded slowly, keeping her eyes locked with his. "Will you tell me why?"

A harsh sound of frustration escaped Nuada and he turned sharply from Dynala. His eyes fixed on a bird's nest in a tree, he ground out, "You endangered yourself for a piece of human _trash!_" He started to pace furiously. "Humans took _everything_ from you! Your family, your home, your forest – they destroyed _all_ of it!" He spun to face her. "And yet you save the life of one of those very humans. _Why?_" He flung his hands up in exasperation and rage. "They thought you were going to _kill_ the brat – she called you a monster for saving his life!"

"I did not rescue him for gratitude," Dynala countered quietly, her calm demeanor a sharp contrast to his wrath.

Nuada laughed harshly. "That is good, for you received none!" His fingers raked through his long white hair. "Have you forgotten what the Children of Men have _done_ to us, to our _people?_" he whispered, breathing hard. Even considering that Dynala had forsaken his cause, and thereby forsaken him, was a wrenching blow. It took his breath away.

Dynala approached him slowly. "I held my brother as he died. Seventeen years ago, I failed to save a Fae mother and wife who had been burned by humans with red-hot iron. I will _never_ forget," she answered vehemently. "But that boy has done nothing; he was only about five years old."

Nuada scowled and argued. "He may not have done anything yet, but he _will_. Even if he doesn't, he will breed, and his _children_ will do something. And their children, and their children!" Nuada shook his head sharply. "You should have let him die," he censured her lowly.

She recoiled from him; the sharp move away from him stung like a slap. "What if it had been _your_ son?" Dynala demanded. There was fire in her eyes; he had finally made her angry. "I know that you have no children, but listen! What if you had a son – a son you had felt kick in your wife's belly, a son you had _taught_ and _loved_ and poured your very _life _into? What if your child were drowning and you could not save him? What if a human who _could_ save him stood nearby? Would you not want him to forget any enmity he bore toward you and pull him out?" Nuada had never heard her speak so passionately; the flush in her cheeks and tone of her voice were unfamiliar, but he was not displeased. He felt strangely grateful that she had spoken openly to him, that she trusted him enough to speak her mind as she had often encouraged him to do. Dynala had not finished. "I hate what humans have done as much as you do; I want them to stop as much as you do. But do _not_ criticize me because I will not watch an innocent child die!"

Her spiel complete, she regained her composure. But Nuada now had another problem gnawing at his mind. "When I raise the Army," he told her quietly, scrutinizing her face for her reaction. "I will kill every human I can find – _all_ of them. Even the children."

Sorrow and weariness swept across her face; she looked away. "I know," she murmured tonelessly, deadly, _resignedly_. "And I will understand because children grow into adults. It will be necessary if the safety of our people is to last more than one generation." Nuada met her gaze, and there was brutal comprehension there. "But do not ask me to like it."


	12. Solstice

The day of the summer solstice dawned bright and clear. By noon, the festivities had begun. Tables of food were set out; music and laughter filled the air; the Fae were dancing; and children were running and playing between their parents, laughing and shrieking at their playfellows' antics. As Nuada watched, he was reminded of the old days, when humans had not yet begun their hunt to fill the holes in their hearts. The sight filled him with hope. It _will_ be like this again, he told himself. I will make it so.

As males often do, the Fae men – elves, dwarves, goblins, gancanaghs, and more – gathered together to discuss politics and troublesome events. Nuada joined their conversations, diplomatically yet honestly giving his opinions and insights, but he did not become too absorbed. Half of his attention was always fixed on Dynala.

She seemed to be everywhere at once; one minute she would be playing with the children, the next she would be helping serve the food, and the next she would be bandaging a child's scraped knee. She flitted around, doing whatever needed to be done, smiling, laughing, and spreading her effervescent attitude to all around her. Nuada was mesmerized.

There were games, contests, and races. Nuada entered a few and won every time. When he saw the handkerchiefs that were tied to some of the men's arms – tokens from their ladies – he felt a brief pang of sorrow; before his exile, when he had entered any competition, Nuala had given him hers. Now he had no one. Although, for some reason, he _had_ been sorely tempted to ask Dynala for hers; he wondered if she would have consented… A part of him doubted, but he also remembered her gentle hand against his cheek, and he could not help but think that maybe she would have given it to him if he had asked. Maybe.

Nuada frowned at his train of thought. He was being very selfish – if he had worn her handkerchief, people would have jumped to the wrong conclusion that he was courting her. Dynala was his _friend_; why would he want to risk starting more rumors about her?

Dusk began to fall, torches were lit, and the music and dancing began in earnest. Every able-bodied Fae joined hands, linked arms, and wove between each other in complex, wild group dances. Nuada was an excellent dancer, but he did not often fancy it. He was content to stay off to the side, watching his people revel with a small smile – until young Tipper stormed toward him with a scowl upon her usually sweet face.

With growing trepidation, Nuada watched Tipper grow closer and closer. His eyes scanned the gathering somewhat desperately for her parents or one of her sisters, but they were all occupied with dance, food, or conversation, and Tipper was too close for Nuada to make a clean getaway without further hurting her feelings. So he breathed deeply, smoothed his face into a calm mask, and steeled himself. He had faced armies – an angry child was _not_ going to be his undoing.

Tipper stopped in front of him and stared up at him mutely, little fists clenched.

"Good evening, Tipper," Nuada said evenly.

Her frown deepened. "Prince Nuada, why are boys so stupid?" she demanded.

Nuada's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. Why, indeed? Once, when he and Nuala had been a little older than Tipper, Nuala had asked him the same question. Nuada had unwisely retorted, "Why are _girls_ so stupid?" The subsequent pummeling he had received at his little sister's hands _still_ made him cringe in embarrassment.

Oh, well. He knew better now. "I suppose," he answered, "it is because they are young and ignorant." He crooked an eyebrow at the young goblin. "Why do you ask?"

Her scowl grew fiercer still. "Because," she huffed, "None of them will dance with me, and when I asked them why not, they said that girls are gross!" Now tears began to fill her eyes, and Nuada had to repress a groan. "I am _not_ gross!" Tipper insisted.

"Indeed you are not," Nuada assured her, but she still looked rather upset. A plan occurred to the prince, one that would certainly work, and he sighed. _I have grown soft_, he thought ruefully. "Dry your tears," he instructed firmly. Tipper looked at him with wide eyes and obeyed. Nuada extended his hand to the goblin child. "Come," he said.

"Where are we going?" Tipper asked as she placed her hand – sticky, Nuada noted with an inward grimace – in his.

Nuada shortened his stride so she could keep up with him as he led her toward the dancing faeries. "You and I," he replied, "are going to dance." Tipper's answering smile was huge and brilliant.

As the evening progressed and most of the children, Tipper included, returned home, the dances became more for couples. Nuada was not tired, but standing alone as some fifty pairs of sweethearts danced was uncomfortable. He decided to withdraw and was looking for Mr. Wink when his eyes fell once again on Dynala. She was not dancing either, but there was a crowd of young Fae men gathered around her seeking to remedy that situation.

Déjà vu struck him – once again, she was cornered by overzealous admirers – and he would have laughed if the sight hadn't made his blood boil for some unknown reason.

Out of nowhere, Corrigan appeared at his side. The tip of his nose was slightly red – he had been drinking. "Go on!" he encouraged. "Brush those little whippersnappers aside – _you_ ask her to dance! If I read her right, she'll not refuse _you_." The unexpected advice startled Nuada. He looked sharply down at the goblin, whose head was barely even with his shoulder. Corrigan's tipsiness made him brave; he grinned rakishly at the prince. "Don't look at me like that – every man knows that you'll _never_ get the girl if you stand back and let the others chaps swamp her. You've got to go and _establish_ yourself! Your actions have to tell her that you're willing to fight for her, or she'll assume that you don't care and she'll start considering her other prospects."

Nuada's eyes were drawn against his will back to Dynala and the Fae around her. Corrigan was being ridiculous; if Dynala wanted one of them to court her, what was that to Nuada? She was his friend; there was absolutely no reason for him to feel so unsettled by the idea. He said as much. "Lady Dynala is a friend to me, nothing more. I would not spark more gossip by intervening."

Corrigan chuckled. "Oh, and that black glower you've got on _won't_ start people talking? Watching all those fellows around her, you look like you're eating dirt." Nuada turned the afore-mentioned scowl onto Corrigan, who raised his hands in defeat. "All right, all right. But if you're her friend, help the poor girl out, eh? I don't know if you've noticed, but Cavan is one of those swains, and he'll be driving her mad by now."

With that, Corrigan meandered back to his wife. He was grinning; he wasn't as drunk as he appeared, and he was _very_ satisfied with the appalled look on Nuada's face as he had delivered that last bit of information.

When Corrigan reached his wife, Ornat propped her hands on her hips and demanded, "Are you done interfering yet, you old coot?"

Corrigan grinned. "Oh, he'll thank me later."

"Aye, with a spear in your gut," Ornat grumbled, but she was looking on Dynala with soft eyes. Corrigan knew she wanted to see Dynala happy just as much as he did, and if Crown Prince Nuada Silver Lance made her happy… well, then, the prince just needed to get a move on, didn't he? "He's a stubborn one, make no mistake!"

"I gave him a nudge in the right direction," Corrigan murmured. Then he grinned. "I told him to dance with her – I'll wager a dance with you, _a ghrá_, that he does it."

Ornat grinned and nudged him with her hip. "I'll take that bet."

And they both returned to watching the prince surreptitiously.

Nuada was oblivious to Corrigan's scheme to force his hand; he was too busy trying to reconstruct his carefully built logic for not snatching Dynala away from those fools. But he was fighting a losing battle. Corrigan had made sure of that – there was no way the prince could _not_ intercede now that he knew Cavan was bothering Dynala again. Indeed, he was walking toward the group of Fae before he had made the conscious decision to do so.

Nuada was none too gentle as he shouldered his way through the suitors; he made sure to level his iciest look at anyone brave – or foolish – enough to meet his eyes. Nuada Silver Lance was well-known for his temper and prowess; none of the men were eager to stand in his way, and soon Nuada was face to face with Dynala. Even she, who was nearly always serene, was looking rather frazzled. The relief in her eyes when she saw Nuada removed any lingering doubts about abetting her. Nuada did not look at any of the upstarts around her; rude as they were, they were not worthy of his attention. But Nuada did intend to teach them some manners – by example, to pour salt in the wounds of their shame.

He stood at attention, like the soldier he was, before Dynala and bowed respectfully from the waist. "Lady Dynala," he greeted her. In a refined fashion, he offered her his arm. "Would you honor me with a dance?"

For a split second, nervousness wreaked havoc on his stomach. Had this been a mistake? What if she declined?

But then a dazzling smile spread across her face. One of the brazen youths clustered around her actually groaned in disappointment. She curtsied deeply to Nuada, mindful of his high ranking. "It is I who am honored by your request, Your Highness," she replied, every inch the cultured lady at court. She accepted his extended arm, and Nuada led her back through the crown of Fae, his back very straight and his head very high. He felt… oddly victorious, as though he had just conquered some formidable enemy.

Off to one side, Corrigan smirked and claimed his dance from Ornat.

Nuada escorted Dynala genteelly to the place where the other couples were dancing; luckily, a new song began at that moment. It was slow and cathartic, an excellent melody for dancing. Suddenly edgy, Nuada placed his hand on Dynala's waist; her slender hand rested on his shoulder – it was good that she was so tall, he thought randomly; it made things much easier – and each clasped the other's free hand. After Nuada experienced a brief moment of fear that he would not remember the steps – it had been _a thousand years _since he had danced – his feet recalled what to do, and he began leading Dynala in the simple formation. She was a graceful, lithe dancer; Nuada possessed the ease of movement born from endless training.

Every eye was on them, speculating, but Nuada found himself unable to think of the audience for more than a second at a time. His thoughts kept racing back to the woman dancing with him.

After a few moments, Dynala smiled shyly. "We danced once before. Do you remember?" Nuada was so shocked that he nearly tripped over his own feet. No, he did not remember, and he could not believe that he had forgotten. Dynala grinned at his astonished expression. "My family was at court when you and your sister turned ten," she explained. "Your father threw a birthday celebration." Her smile turned poignant. "You danced with Princess Nuala nearly the whole time," she continued, her sympathetic eyes watching his reactions carefully; Nuada knew that the last thing she wanted was to open old wounds. But while the memories of what he had lost pained him, he did not mind discussing them with Dynala – why that was so he had no idea. Perhaps it was because he knew that she, too, had experienced devastating loss.

But now that he was thinking back on the night of his tenth birthday… "I remember," he said suddenly. "But she grew tired. My father laughed and teased me about monopolizing her. He suggested that I find another partner and let my sister rest. He reminded me that Lord Quinlan had a daughter near my age; he told me to dance with you." Nuada looked own at Dynala in wonder. "I danced with you," he repeated, still stunned.

He could tell Dynala was delighted that he had remembered. "You were _so_ angry," she recalled, giggling. "But when you saw how scared I was of you, the strangest look came over your face."

Nuada grimaced at the echo of the shame he had experienced when he had looked into the girl's pale green face and huge, terrified eyes. "I felt like I had kicked a puppy," he admitted.

At that, Dynala's head tipped back and she laughed freely. The golden sound rang through the air; Nuada inexplicably thought that he could listen to the sound forever. The firelight caught on her hair, flaming it into strands of burnished bronze and copper; shadows played in the hollow at the base of her throat. Her eyes were alight with merriment. Not even the sun shone brighter than her smile.

Nuada could have been flying – surely flight felt something like this. He was weightless; his heart was full to bursting with happiness and something else. He grinned down into Dynala's eyes.

_I love you_. The thought came unbidden; it had been summoned from the very depths of his soul by the power of her eyes, locked with his. But it was out now, and it could not be taken back. _I love you_. The unexplainable bursts of jealously and joy, the mysterious unfamiliar emotions, and the unshakable desire to be near her were all clarified – _there_ was the reason. _I love you_.

Nuada quaked at the realization; it sent him reeling. If he had been flying, he was now being slammed violently back down onto hard, cold earth. Luck was with him; the song ended, so his sudden stop was not so glaringly peculiar.

Dynala was confused; but he could not give her time to ask questions lest she see what had happened to him. He had to leave, immediately. Hurriedly, he bowed to her once more. "Thank you, my lady, for the dance," he blurted out, keeping his voice from shaking by sheer force of will. Then he turned and rapidly walked away, back to Corrigan's house.

Thankfully, Corrigan, Ornat, and Wink were still at the celebration, and all of Corrigan's daughters were asleep; Nuada was able to retreat to his room without being seen. Once he was behind the closed door, he collapsed onto his bed and tried to force those three words back into his subconscious. He could _not_ love her; he had _nothing_ to give her! He was an exile doomed to scour the earth until he could redeem his people; thus far, he was a failure at that. He was without a home, without an inheritance and means of income; he had absolutely nothing but the clothes on his back and his weapons. He was also actively trying to rekindle a war. How then could he ask Dynala – or any woman, for that matter – to bind herself to him? No. She was beyond his reach, forbidden to him until he had something to offer her. Nuada ground his teeth against the bitterness of that revelation, for he would not have anything to offer her until he returned from exile, and he could not, _would_ not, return from exile until he found the missing Crown piece.

That was that. He had left what he loved for the sake of honor before; he could do it again. He and Wink would depart in the morning. He would leave Dynala until he could love her worthily, even if doing so tore out his very heart.

Far away in the halls of Bethmoora, Princess Nuala lay awake in her bed. Tears were streaming uncontrollably from her eyes, and she did not know why.


	13. A New Life

Nuada barely slept at all; when slumber _did_ close his eyes, it was restless. Very early in the morning, he gave up on repose and knocked on Wink's door. When he heard the troll grunt and growl in unwelcome wakefulness, Nuada said flatly. "Wake and prepare, Mr. Wink. We will be leaving soon."

The exiled prince returned to his room and collected his weapons, strapping them to his back. They should be ready to leave in a few minutes; they had replenished their supplies shortly before they had saved Dynala a few days earlier, so they would not need to do that now. Since Corrigan was probably still in bed, sleeping off the liqueur he had consumed last night, Nuada felt somewhat guilty, for he intended to leave before he woke and would therefore be unable to thank him in person. Still, he could leave a note… He was certain that Corrigan would understand.

But there was one more person whom Nuada would not see again before he left. He fervently hated the thought of leaving her without saying goodbye, but he doubted that he could look Dynala in the eyes without giving away his feelings.

There was a knock at his door. _Ready when you are_, Mr. Wink muttered, still half-asleep. It was time. Nuada stood and penned a hasty thanks and explanation. As he and Wink passed through the great room, Nuada took a quick detour to the kitchen and left the note there. Then they slipped out the door and into the misty predawn quiet. Wink yawned. _Will we stop by Dynala's to tell her we're leaving? _he asked.

Nuada took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out slowly. "No."

They walked through the mountain woods, back on their original course, back to searching for that Crown piece. Wink, though he disapproved of their silent, secretive departure, sensed a strange new fragility in the prince; he decided to leave Nuada alone for a time.

So for several minutes there was utter silence as they walked. Nuada kept his eyes fixed doggedly on the path; but his mind was in a small stone house, wondering if Dynala would be hurt or angry or sad when she discovered that he had gone.

Hoof beats against the undergrowth pricked his ears. He and Wink stopped when they realized that someone was riding fast toward them. A premonition made Nuada's stomach drop; he just _knew_ who the rider was, and he knew that he would not be wondering about Dynala's reaction much longer.

Sure enough, a great black horse emerged from between the trees, and astride him sat Dynala. Her face was deadly serious, without as much as a hint of the happiness he had seen last night. Her russet-brown eyes met his, large and sorrowful. Knowing that he had caused her grief, Nuada could not look at her. He averted his gaze and waited for her to say something.

She didn't; she just stared at him in silence until Mr. Wink shuffled awkwardly. _I'll scout_ _ahead_, he announced, and he quickly vanished into the woods.

Only then did Dynala dismount her horse and approach Nuada. He still could not look at her; doing so caused him terrible pain. He could not let his eyes trace her features and know that she was beyond his reach, that he did not deserve her.

He did want to know one thing, though. "How did you know we had left?" His voice was lifeless.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dynala wrap her arms around herself as though suddenly chilled. "The cedar tree outside Corrigan's house is the worst gossip in the whole forest," she whispered. "Little happens at Corrigan's house that the tree does not tell me." The irony was not lost on Nuada – he had been a fool to think that he could leave undetected through a forest that spoke to Dynala on a regular basis. He did not say anything in response; there was nothing he could think to say but "I love you", and that needed to remain unspoken. Besides, he had a feeling that Dynala was not through. He was right. "You were not even going to say goodbye," she stated mournfully. "I – I thought that – last night you left so quickly, and now…" She paused. Then she asked, her voice trembling slightly, "My prince, if I done or said something wrong, I offer my sincerest apologies."

Shocked, Nuada whipped around to face her. How could she think that this was her fault? Seeing the pain and uncertainty in her eyes was unbearable; he quickly looked away again. "You have done nothing," he assured her, nearly choking on the words. No, the blame rested solely on _his_ shoulders.

"Then _look_ at me!" Dynala cried. The anguish in her voice tore at him like claws in his gut. "You will not even _face_ me – please, Nuada, if I have done nothing wrong, _look_ at me!"

She had said his name – no title, just his name – for the first time since had met her. Nuada was shaking. "I cannot," he whispered.

"_Why?_" she demanded. Nuada wished that she had been angry; if she had been furious at his treatment, he could have mustered his pride and resisted. But her pain made him weak; this last desperate question burst the dams containing his emotions.

"_Because to look at your face is torture!_" he exploded, finally facing her, letting her see his agony as he ranted. "It is _unendurable_ to look at you and know that though I would do _anything_ for you, I cannot even _hope_ to earn or deserve –" He cut himself sharply, wrenching himself away from her. There – it had nearly been said, and Dynala was no fool; she would recognize his meaning.

Nuada's back was to Dynala, but he could hear her breathing hard. For an immeasurable amount of time, they stood in silence. Then very quietly from behind him, Dynala asked two questions. "Do you think so lowly of me? Do you consider my love so worthless?" Well, Nuada definitely had not expected _that_. In bewilderment, he spun around to look at the unpredictable woman. What kind of question was that? He valued her and her love above all else! He was about to tell her so, but she cut him off. "The love that is a wage to be earned or a prize to be won is cheap and shallow, if it is love at all; for once it is won, might not another who is more worthy come along and steal it away? The person who loves thusly does not _truly_ love at all and is cruel and heartless." There were tears in her eyes. She took a step toward him. "I am not like that. My love is a _gift_; it cannot be deserved or earned, only given." Her next step forward brought her so close to him that he could practically feel her heartbeat. "My love is mine to give to whom I choose," she whispered. She was _so close_ to him. She gently laid her hand on his chest – directly over his rapidly beating heart – and there was more power in that tender touch than in a thousand blows. "And it is yours," she concluded softly, capturing him with her eyes.

Nuada's breath was driven from his body. The sweetness of that simple statement was overpowering. As he loved her, she loved him – it was there, in her eyes. He could do nothing but cover the hand she had laid on his chest with one hand and shakily brush the fingers of his other hand along the satin of her cheek. When her eyes slid closed and she leaned into his touch, joy smote his heart; and Nuada knew that he would never recover from the wound. Ah, he loved her – perhaps he had loved her ever since he had first heard her voice calling him out of pain and death. "My heart was yours long ago," he confessed.

And so it was that two weeks later, beneath the towering trees of the Greenwood, Crown Prince Nuada Silver Lance, son of Balor, King of Bethmoora, wed Dynala the Healer, Lady of the Greenwood, daughter of Lord Quinlan Strong Tree.

Life changed in every way for the prince. He had been a wanderer without a family – now he was a husband. He had been an exile – now he called a quaint, peaceful stone cottage home. He was a warrior – now, with much patient teaching from Dynala and a few of the village men, he began to learn the ways of the plow and scythe as he had once learned the ways of the sword and spear. He was a prince – but now when he woke, his first order of business besides kissing his wife was to milk the heifer he and Dynala had received as a wedding gift from Corrigan.

Dynala still laughed whenever she thought of his first attempt to milk that cow. Nuada had approached the beast as warily as he would have approached an enemy in battle; the cow had stepped on the prince's foot and kicked him off the milking stool. Had it not been for Dynala's calm encouragement, the newlyweds might have eaten beef for supper that night. Nuada had glared at that cow and vowed menacingly that he _was _going to milk her, whether she liked it or not. Or course, he had succeeded; Nuada refused to allow for failure.

But he was not so absorbed in his new life that he forgot his promise to the Fae. In his previous travels around the globe, he had developed a vast network of informants who knew to watch their regions for any whisper, any hint of the Crown piece's whereabouts. They sent him monthly reports; for years, they always contained the same message: No trace of the piece. Nuada felt the itch of impatience ad frustration, but Dynala was always there to comfort and encourage him. "You will find it," she assured him often. Her confidence in him was a soothing balm.

Those years passed by in peace and happiness, the first time Nuada had felt either emotion in one thousand years. Spring, summer, autumn, winter. Sunshine like butter; snow like diamonds. Planting, harvest, preserving. Sunrise, sunset; morning, night. Nuada and Dynala were happy. Mr. Wink, who had built himself a modest home near theirs, was happy, too; he watched Nuada's burdens lighten and soul lift with a full and glad heart.

Then, after many years had passed, the report came from Japan; a fresh trail, a new lead. When Wink brought the news to Nuada, he was both thrilled and strangely reluctant. He knew that he had to go, but he did not want to leave Dynala. After Wink had left, Nuada looked at his wife with a conglomeration of conflicting emotions on his face. He opened his mouth to say something – he did not quite know what – but Dynala laid finger over his lips. "I know," she whispered. Her eyes were sad, but understanding. "I'll help you pack."

The next morning, Nuada rose hours before dawn and did most of the chores; he wanted to help Dynala as much as possible before he left. He and Dynala ate breakfast in companionable, if dejected, silence. Wink came to meet Nuada just as the sun was rising. _Ready?_ he asked. Nuada nodded.

At the last second before he left, Nuada grasped Dynala's hands tightly. "You are certain that you will be all right?" he asked anxiously.

Dynala arched one eyebrow. "I survived alone for many years before you came along, did I not?" she teased. "I will be fine. Do not worry." She kissed him fiercely and hugged him tightly. "And _be safe_," she begged, her face buried against his shoulder.

Pulling away reluctantly, Nuada promised, "I will."

Dynala released him and stepped back. "You, too, Mr. Wink – keep yourself out of trouble."

Wink chuckled. _Don't fret about either of us; _I'm_ not the one who gets us into trouble, and I'll keep him out of it, too_.

Dynala's smile was strained, but genuine. "I appreciate that." Her eyes met Nuada's. "Goodbye," she murmured, taking his hand and giving it a final squeeze. Nuada returned the farewell; he had Wink were walking away when Dynala called out, "Nuada!" He turned around and saw that she was grinning. "Come back soon – I have something to tell you when you return."

Oh, she was good – the mystery would motivate him to return quickly. He smiled. "I wait with bated breath."


	14. The Line Continues

Two months later, Nuada and Wink trudged exhaustedly back through the Greenwood. Their investigation in Japan had hit a dead end; the lead had seemed promising, but it had been extremely hard to follow, and it had turned out to be a false hope – the Crown piece had not been there. It was still lost. Discouragement had settled deep in Nuada's bones at losing a ray of hope of finding the piece, the first such hope in a millennium; the only brightness he clung to was the fact that he was almost home, almost with Dynala again.

When he finally stepped into the clearing where his home was, he spied Dynala immediately. She was kneeling in their garden, weeding; he could hear her singing a song about, ironically, an exiled prince.

Just seeing her and hearing her voice made some of the tension in his shoulders ease. He began walking more quickly. "Dynala!" he called, feeling their time apart like an ache. Her head snapped up at the sound of his voice. When she saw him, she froze for a split second. Then her joyous, melodious laughter filled the air, and she was running to him.

Their collision was bliss; Dynala flung her arms around Nuada's neck, and he held her so close that he lifted her off the ground. Nuada's mouth covered his wife's, and he kissed her ardently until he had to pull away for lack of breath. "Welcome home!" Dynala gasped breathlessly.

"I cannot describe how good it is to be back," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

Gently, Dynala's fingers stroked the contours of his face. He did not have to tell her that he had not found the Crown piece – only a simpleton could fail to interpret the defeat on his face. "Do not despair," she murmured quietly. "You will find it. You _will_. You just did not find it this time." She tilted up his chin. "Are you hungry?" It was more than a question. It was a kind reminder to not wallow in self-pity and to move on. Drawing a deep breath, Nuada nodded and opened his eyes. The time to push past his grief and exasperation had come – the past was past; it was time to let it go and focus on the future. He set Dynala back on the ground and, taking her hand, walked into their house. "Sit," she urged. "Rest. I'll get you something to eat."

Nuada complied, sinking into one of the chairs in the great room and thanking her. But before she could bustle to the kitchen, he pulled her down onto his lap, relishing the way she curved against him. He held her silently for a second, but then his curiosity got the best of him. "I have been going mad with curiosity for these two months," he whispered, planting soft kisses on her neck. "And now that I'm home, I would like you to disclose the piece of information you promised me when I left, if you don't mind."

"Oh." Nuada frowned slightly; Dynala suddenly sounded somewhat nervous. "Well….." She turned slightly so she could face him; there was a secret in her eyes. "It's just….. I think that we will have to expand our house a little." At Nuada's look of complete and utter confusion, she elaborated. "Just another room."

Nuada was puzzled, and, frankly, a little disappointed; he had been expecting – well, he hadn't been sure what to expect, but he had thought that it would be something else, something more….. sensational. "And _why_ do we need this other room?" he inquired.

Dynala bit her lip and fidgeted; but Nuada realized that he had misread her earlier. She was not nervous. She was _excited_. "Because," she whispered, her eyes overflowing with something Nuada could not quite name, "our child will need a room of his own when he gets older."

In some distant corner of his mind, Nuada was very glad that he was sitting down. Child. Child? As in, baby? As in….. "I –" he spluttered, "You – _we –_" He stared in astonishment and growing wonder at his wife. Of its own accord, his hand laid across her stomach, still flat for now. "You – _we_ – are going to have a baby?" he choked out.

Dynala's eyes were full of tears; a dazzling smile was on her face. She nodded, unable to speak.

Joy, different from the joy Nuada had felt when Dynala had married him but just as powerful, swept through him; he embraced Dynala tightly, kissing her passionately, and soon they were both laughing as tears poured down their faces.

Nuada inhaled his food; before he had finished chewing he grabbed Dynala's hand, and they ran to Wink's house. When Nuada and Dynala burst through his door, Mr. Wink almost thought they had gone mad until he saw how the prince was glowing with delight. "We're going to have a baby!" Nuada shouted in elation, holding Dynala close to his side.

Wink dropped the piece of bread he had been about to eat. A child! He stared at Nuada in shock, and there was such happiness in the prince's eyes. After so much grief and suffering, there was gladness again. The sight almost brought tears to the burly troll's eyes. _Congratulations!_ Wink said after clearing his throat. _Dynala, you will make a fine mother_. Dynala grinned up at Wink and thanked him. _And you_, Wink said to Nuada, his throat tightening with emotions again. He placed his non-mechanical hand on his friend's shoulder. _You will be an _outstanding_ father. May your family be blessed richly with happiness and health._

Corrigan was the next person to be told – he whooped and hollered, drawing his whole family out with the commotion. When Tipper – now full-grown into a charming, if garrulous woman – heard the news, she squealed and gave both Nuada and Dynala a hug.

The word spread like wildfire – the next week, a celebration was held. Dynala and Nuada were surrounded by friends, happily answering questions. No one noticed Cavan standing apart from the group, watching with narrowed eyes; and if anyone _did_ notice, no one cared.

That night as Nuada and Dynala lay in bed, wide awake despite the business of the day, Nuada started speaking in a whisper, to himself as much as to his bride who was curled up in his arms. "I still cannot quite believe it. A child – _our_ child. A piece of you and a piece of me, fused together into a whole other person." He was silent for a moment, in awe of the miracle of life. "I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl," he mused. "I can imagine our daughter, as beautiful as you."

Dynala laughed softly, snuggling closer to him. "I'm flattered," she murmured against his chest, "but it is not a girl. He is a boy – a _son_."

"How can you know?" Nuada asked, startled.

Dynala rolled onto her back and tenderly placed his hand low on her abdomen, over her womb. Her eyes closed. "I can _feel_ him," she breathed. "Not physically – I cannot feel him move yet. But with magic I can sense him. He is most _definitely_ a he." Her eyes opened. "Let me show you. Close your eyes and relax."

Nuada obeyed, nervous and eager at once. He felt Dynala's magic brush his mind, a sensation similar to Nuala's contact. He felt Dynala's presence.

And as Dynala used her healing magic to peer into her own body, he felt another distinct, separate being. It was small, but it was unquestionably _there_, and Dynala had been right – it had a distinct masculine feel to it. Nuada felt tears fill his eyes as Dynala took him deeper, looking more at the details. There – a tiny heartbeat, fragile but so very _alive_. Arms and legs were there as well, and even movement, though Dynala could not feel it yet – there were even miniscule but perfect fingers and toes. Eyes, too, were in the process of being formed. Weeping tears of love and joy, Nuada and Dynala remained like that for some time, just listening to and watching their son. Eventually Dynala let the connection fade, but Nuada kept his hand on her stomach. "The life inside you is _beautiful_," he whispered.

Dynala smiled into his eyes. "Of course he is," she agreed. "He is _your _son, after all." Eyes softening, she scooted back into Nuada's embrace. "He will be just like you," she predicted with a yawn. Then something seemed to occur to her. "Goodness –_ two_ of you? I'm going to have my hands full."

Snorting sarcastically, Nuada tugged lightly, teasingly on a lock of his wife's hair. "Indeed," he muttered dryly. Then, in all seriousness, he murmured, "I worry about what I will do when he is older. I think of _my_ father and how….." he trailed off, not wanting to speak of the pain and betrayal he had felt. "I fear that I will be a poor example," he confessed, barely audible. "I wonder if I will be able to teach him anything or instill in him all that I want to."

Dynala propped herself up on her elbow so that she could look him in the eyes. "How could you be a bad example?" she inquired somberly. "You, who gave up all he had to do what he knew was right? You, who have steadfastly searched for the Crown piece despite past failure and discouragement? You can teach him all he needs to know of honor, loyalty, and perseverance without even opening your mouth." Dynala gave him a soft kiss. "Just by watching you, our son will learn so much. Wait – you will see."


	15. Protect and Defend

Dynala's pregnancy was an easy one – her healing magic automatically prevented any problems; she did not even experience nausea.

At first, for a very brief period of time, Nuada tried to keep her from doing any work whatsoever. That did not last long. "Nuada," Dynala said, a little _too_ calmly, after a few days, "I appreciate what you are trying to do. However, I am not made of glass – I am still fully capable of working, and frankly, not having anything to do is driving me mad. So, please, refrain from doing my chores until I am so big around than I have trouble moving."

Reluctantly, Nuada yielded.

The months passed. As Dynala had asked, they built a new room for the child. They debated about what his name should be. The first time Nuada felt his son kick inside Dynala, his heart leapt; he could hardly wait until he could hold their child in his arms. Summer faded, and Dynala's belly grew steadily. There were the occasional random bursts of temper and tears as her hormones fluctuated, but Nuada weathered them with poise.

Only once in Dynala's pregnancy did Nuada feel actual fear for his family. When only three months remained until the baby was due, Dynala woke suddenly in the middle of the night. Whispering on the wind, the trees were sighing a warning – humans were approaching their home. Dynala sat up in bed, her ears straining to hear something, anything. A twig snapping made her jump, her nerves strung tight. A man's voice whispering made her blood run cold.

"Quiet, you idiot. He told us not to make a sound or they would hear us coming."

"_You're_ making a sound right now," a second voice pointed out in a low grumble.

"Shut _up!_" the first voice hissed. "That's the house. Not another word until it's done."

Near silence followed, but Dynala could hear their footsteps coming closer. Her hand flashed out in the darkness, shaking Nuada's shoulder. "Wake up!" she whispered huskily. "Nuada, wake up!"

Nuada was alert enough in the mornings, but attempting to draw him out of a deep sleep was like waking a rock. The only acknowledgement Dynala received was a low, vague "Hmmm?"

"There are humans here!"

Nuada's response was nigh indistinguishable, but it_ might _have been, "Well, tell them to leave."

A soft thud reached Dynala's ears. The humans were trying to open the door. Dynala was skilled with a sword – under normal circumstances, she could have dispatched of them quickly. But she was pregnant; her son's life was tied to hers. The memory of being shot was fresh in her mind, and she feared for her son's safety.

Sorry, Nuada, she thought as she laid her hand on his shoulder again. With magic she entered his sleeping consciousness. Whispering another apology, she thundered _**WAKE!**_ at the top of her mental lungs.

Nuada's eyes sprang open; he jumped about a foot in the air. He turned indignantly to Dynala demand an explanation. But then he saw her pinched face and wide eyes – she was afraid. Immediately, his every sense was on alert, his body tense. Another quiet thump came from the door as the humans tried to jimmy the lock. Someone outside cursed softly and was shushed by his comrades.

Nuada was out of bed with his spear in hand before Dynala could blink. Holding his hand palm-out to her in a signal to remain where she was, he stalked to the window and silently slung himself out of the house. Though he disdained the idea of attacking them from behind, he would _not_ open the door – he wanted a solid barrier between the scum and his wife at all times.

Dynala listened. Within two seconds, she heard twice the sound of a blade being thrust into flesh. The humans never saw death coming; they did not even have time to scream.

Nuada slipped back in through the window with a stain of blood, black rather than crimson in the night, on his chest. "Two of them," he snarled, furious and disgusted beyond measure, "armed to kill." He wiped the blood from his skin and placed his gory spear on the table on top of the cloth he had used. "I will dispose of the carcasses. Go back to sleep." Simmering rage emanating from his very skin, he stormed away again.

How _exactly_ am I supposed to go back to sleep? Dynala wondered bitterly. It would be impossible. Instead, she lit a candle and cleaned Nuada's spear. After that, still too restless to sit still, she resumed sewing a shirt that she had begun earlier that day – a baby's garment for their son. She had nearly finished it when Nuada returned.

If she had hoped that his anger would cool while he dispensed with the dead bodies, she was disappointed. Every line of her husband's body spoke of bloodlust and absolute wrath. His eyes were practically glowing with it. "I found money in their pockets," he spat, his voice colder than ice. "They had been _paid_."

Dynala nodded weakly. "I know," she whispered. "I heard them talking before – they had instructions; they had been told where to find us." This had not been a random attack – it had been an attempt at _assassination_. She shivered at the thought.

Nuada saw the small shudder. The thought that his wife had cause to shiver in fear of humans both broke his heart and filled it with blistering fury. He went to her and held her tightly, dread curling in his own gut – the murderers had not succeeded, but what if it happened again; what if someone _hurt_ her or his son? Nuada fought back a tremor of his own.

"Tomorrow we will talk to Wink and Corrigan," he said lowly. "We will try to find the culprit."

"And if we cannot?" Dynala asked. "They know where we live – this place will no longer be safe. We will have to leave."

Nuada's sigh was deep and angry. "I know."

As soon as the sun rose, Nuada walked Dynala to Wink's house. After giving the troll fierce instructions to keep her safe, he left again to fetch Corrigan. Dynala did not relax until he returned with the goblin. Nuada jumped right in, his expression cold and business-like. "Last night, two humans endeavored to break into our home and kill us." Corrigan flushed in ire and jumped to his feet; Wink bellowed, outraged. Nuada's face became even more severe as he continued. "However, they were not acting alone," the prince explained, his mouth curling into a snarl. "Someone had paid them." Corrigan and Mr. Wink both turned the air blue with curses. Nuada held up a hand, and suddenly he was not just their friend, he was a prince. And he wanted to get back to business. "Corrigan, you know the inhabitants of this forest better than anyone but Dynala. She can think of no one who would want us dead. Can you?"

"_No!_" Corrigan answered vehemently. "_Every single_ Fae in this forest is loyal to you!"

_Obviously not_, Mr. Wink growled. _Or do you think that the humans just _happened_ upon their house? _Someone_ told them!_

Corrigan replied waspishly, and a full-on fight was brewing.

But not for long. "Everyone _will_ calm down." Dynala's voice could have frozen fire. "We are going to _rationally_ discuss the best way to make discreet inquiries."

And they did. Wink had Nuada certainly had plenty of practice investigating – had they not been doing that exact thing for the past one thousand years? Also, Dynala was a great help because she had the trees as informants. They heard everything that happened in the forest, and they were willing to help as much as they could. After hearing the witness of an old rowan, Nuada, Wink, and Corrigan journeyed to the home of an ancient, withered leprechaun. When he answered the prince's demanding knock, he did not even try to lie. He just sighed. "I figured that if the humans failed you would be here soon," he muttered. "The lady's trees never miss a thing. I suppose you're going to kill me?"

Nuada was expending his every effort to keep from cutting him down then and there. "Yes," he growled. "First though, you _will_ tell me _why_."

The leprechaun's eyes narrowed. "Why should I?" he retorted. "Even if I answer, I'm going to die. Why not just let me keep my reasons to myself, eh?"

Nuada took a step forward – he was tall enough that his frame filled the doorway. His response was a menacing rumble that sent the much-shorter leprechaun back a step. "You tried to have my wife – my _pregnant_ wife – killed. I could _happily_ skin you alive; I could _laugh_ while you burn. You will _tell me why_, or I will do things to you that you cannot even _imagine _before I kill you." The prince's eyes gleamed as he gave the leprechaun a feral smile. "I will _relish _it," he promised.

Gulping, the leprechaun answered in a quavering voice. "I don't care about you _or_ your wife – I only care about peace. My son _died_ in the war, and you want to start it up again! You need the Crown to do that, but so far you've failed to find the last piece. If it had just been you, I would have waited for you to give up or die." His face began to flush as he grew passionate. "But it's _not_ just you anymore! You're about to have a son; and now, even if _you_ die, your wife will raise the boy to be just like you, and _he'll_ continue the search. If he succeeds, _he'll _wage the war. I needed _both_ of you out of the way, you and your _spawn_." He spat the last word.

Nuada had heard enough. Sweeping his spear in a silver arc, he took off the leprechaun's head before the creature could say another word.

He returned home, relieved. Dynala was in the great room, waiting for news. She stood when he entered. "Was it him?" she rushed to ask, twisting her fingers nervously.

Nuada nodded and pulled her into a hug. "He is dead, my love. You're safe. It is over," he assured her.


	16. Addition

Dynala's belly grew rounder and rounder as the months wore on and winter approached. As she had predicted, it became difficult for her to do certain tasks around their home; Nuada cheerfully picked up the slack.

One morning, when Dynala was just ending the ninth month of her pregnancy, as Nuada was out milking the cow, he heard a gasp and a crash – as though Dynala had dropped a dish – from inside the house. Frowning, he patted their cow – the descendent of Corrigan's wedding gift, whom they had named Butter – and jogged back to the house, poking his head back inside the doorway. "Are you all right?" he called.

"Yes." But her voice was strained. She had spoken from the kitchen; Nuada stepped inside to check. Her face was pale, and she was grasping the back of a chair with a white-knuckled grip. The shards of a broken plate lay at her feet. "Nuada," she said, less tensely but not as calmly as she usually spoke, "will you please go to Corrigan's and fetch Ornat?" She looked up at him with very wide eyes, terrified and excited. "Our son has decided that he is tired of the womb – he has opted for a change of scenery."

Nuada was confused for a moment. Then it hit him, and he had never felt so petrified and frenzied. "_Oh!_ The baby? You –– _now?_" Before Dynala could give him an exasperated look, he continued rambling, darting forward to take her hands. "Are you all right? What do you need?"

"Nuada," she calmly got his attention. "I need you to go get Ornat."

"Ornat," he repeated, still trying to think past the brick wall of panic in his mind. "Of course – she has done this seven times – you will be fine – you –"

"I love you dearly." Impatience was leaking into Dynala's tone. "But go _now_, please."

Nuada went. Years of repressing emotions served him well; he was almost calm when he reached Corrigan's house. His knocking on the door, however, was staccato and sharp with impatience. "Your Highness!" Corrigan cried in surprise when he answered the knock. "We were not expecting you."

Nuada kept his face and voice calm. "Forgive my intrusion, but Dynala has need of Ornat," he explained, and though his voice was smooth, his body tense. Corrigan understood immediately.

"Ornat!" the goblin shouted, grinning wickedly. "It's time!" Those two little words caused a ruckus the likes of which Nuada had never seen – shrieks and squeals of excitement sounded from the kitchen, where the family was eating breakfast; all of Corrigan's daughters started milling around madly. High-strung, Corrigan had often called them – Nuada understood why.

"Here we go!" Ornat lilted as her daughters chattered in anticipation. "Come, Your Highness; let us bring forth a bairn! Tipper, Tullia, come with me. "

Corrigan wound up going as well. "Believe me, you'll want another fellow with you," he informed the prince. "Take it from a goblin with experience – when, uh, push comes to shove and you get kicked out of the room, you'll see what I mean; having company is better than being all alone with your racing thoughts."

They returned to the house in a flurry, and the women went to work right away. Corrigan fetched Mr. Wink. Tipper and Tullia prepared everything they would need while Ornat asked Dynala a multitude of questions about contractions, water breaking, and dilation – Nuada understood little of it.

But then all activity stopped. The women sat down and pulled out _sewing!_ Nuada was baffled; he opened his mouth to ask what on earth they were waiting for. But Corrigan clapped a hand on his shoulder and towed him outside. When they were alone in the snow, Corrigan, cringing slightly, asked, "How much do you know about all of this?"

"Nothing," Nuada admitted. "Dynala tried to bring it up a few times, but….." He had not exactly been receptive to Dynala's attempts to discuss childbirth – it had made him uncomfortable. He was beginning to regret that decision.

Wincing, Corrigan seemed to brace himself. "I remember when my oldest was born; I asked a few questions that made the midwife _and_ my wife laugh so hard the baby just about popped out. I'll spare you that. What do you need to know?"

This was awkward, to say the least. But….."Why are they all just sitting there?" Nuada demanded. "I thought –"

"You thought she would go into labor and have the baby just like that. But it takes time," Corrigan muttered, avoiding eye contact. "When a woman goes into labor, she doesn't just immediately have the baby, especially if it's her first one." He started to blush deeply. "The, ah," he cleared his throat. "Well, the _opening_ has to widen first." Nuada's eyes fixed on his boots. "Anything else?" Corrigan mumbled gruffly.

"No." Nuada had had enough of this conversation; he could live with ignorance.

"All right, then."

They went back inside and waited. And waited. Nuada held Dynala's hand as the contractions grew closer together and stronger. They moved Dynala to the sickroom and waited some more. But eventually, at some unspoken signal from Dynala, Ornat stood. "If you'll excuse us, gentlemen," she said briskly.

Corrigan and Wink filed out. Nuada stood, but he did not move. Dynala gave him a pain-tight grin. "Time for the fun part," she chirped. Nuada was panicking again; she saw it in his eyes, and she squeezed his hand. "I will be _fine_," she assured him. "Ornat has delivered many babies – she knows what she is doing. And besides," she added as Tipper and Tullia hustled him out of the room, "women have babies every day."

But when she disappeared behind the door, Nuada could not sit still. He paced the great room like a caged animal. Corrigan and Wink kept up a constant conversation, and Corrigan had been right; Nuada _was_ glad they were there – they distracted him a little from his dread.

The first time he heard a muffled groan through the door, he nearly jumped out of his skin, feeling like his heart was going to burst through his chest. Again, Corrigan proved invaluable. "Easy," he soothed, slapping Nuada on the back. "Giving birth _hurts_ – Ornat screamed like a devil the first three times. It's normal. Don't worry."

Nuada took a deep breath as he tried to relax. Then, from within the sickroom he heard Ornat's voice cry, "_Push!_" and any thought of tranquility vanished. He could not even pace; he was frozen. From the corner of his eye, he saw Corrigan shift anxiously and Wink shoot to his feet – they were not as calm as they had appeared.

Strained cries of monumental effort proceeded from the room, as did Ornat's, Tipper's, and Tullia's combined voices urging Dynala to "_Push, push, push!_"

When Tipper cried, "His head's out!" Nuada's racing heart stuttered.

"One more time!" Tullia encouraged.

Dynala must have complied, because the next thing Nuada heard was a wailing cry – the cry of a newborn baby. His knees turned to water at the sound, relief pulsing through him so strongly that he nearly collapsed. Then Corrigan and Wink were pounding him on the back, laughing, and congratulating him. "Listen to him howling!" Corrigan crowed, admiring the loud, protesting yowls. "Strong and healthy he is, no doubt about it!"

_Even _you_ will wake up when you hear _that_ in the middle of the night_, Wink teased.

Their rejoicing was interrupted by a bright white glow – a radiance which, oddly enough, originated from the Royal Seal fixed to Nuada's waist.

"_What on earth?_" Corrigan yelped.

_A child of royal blood has been born_, Wink explained, though he, too, had been startled. The light vanished and a metal disk fell to the stone floor with a clang. Slowly, Nuada bent and picked up another Royal Seal, identical to the one he wore. _The Seal duplicates itself magically at the birth of such a child_.

Then the door to the sickroom opened and Ornat emerged, beaming. "Your Highness, you have a son. He's hale and hearty; and his mother is well, too. Congratulations!"

Nuada was grinning like a fool, and he didn't care. When Ornat eventually called Tipper and Tullia out of the room and told him that he could go in, she had not even finished her sentence before the prince was already closing the door behind him.

Dynala's face was aglow when he walked in; Nuada thought that she had never looked so beautiful. She grinned at him. "Come see you son," she whispered. Nuada's attention riveted on the swathed bundle cradled in Dynala's arms. Moving to Dynala's side, he peered over the edge of the blanket. Large golden eyes set in a cherubic moon-white face gazed up at him. A shock of cornsilk hair pointed in every direction atop the small head. The thin raised line of the Royal Scar lay across his nose and cheeks. Nuada's heart sang as his eyes drank him in. He was perfection. "Pull up a chair," Dynala instructed softly, smiling as she watched her husband's reaction. "It will make it easier to hold him."

With some gentle coaching, Dynala taught him how to support the newborn's neck and placed the babe in Nuada's arms. Holding his son against his heart made joy so fierce it was almost pain shoot through him. "Liam." Nuada was surprised at his own voice as he spoke the name he and Dynala had chosen only two weeks ago – it could almost have been described as a croon. "_Liam_," he repeated, awed. Liam's eyes, exactly like his own, focused on his father's face, and he made soft baby sound of curiosity. Tiny white fingers reached up and touched Nuada's face. Nuada was transfixed. He had just met his son, and already he loved Liam more than life itself. Quietly, Nuada told him so.

Dynala's hand rested on Nuada's knee. "You will be a wonderful father," she promised, her eyes full of tears.

Nuada looked up to meet her eyes with a grin, and there were tears in his eyes as well.

And so the days passed in joy and peacefulness, and the child grew.


	17. And It Begins

"Try again, more slowly this time," Nuada instructed patiently, holding his practice blade at the ready.

Nine years had passed – the Liam that stood opposite his father was no longer a chubby baby but a tall, strong, lean child. His white-blond hair reached his shoulders now and was pulled back into a horse-tail with strip of leather; his gold eyes evaluated his father as he lifted his own blunted practice sword. Like Nuada, Liam showed an incredible aptitude for the fighting arts; but mastering this particular parry was proving difficult. The idea of having to move slowly chafed at his pride; when he attacked again, he disregarded the advice.

Nuada noticed and raised an eyebrow, but he did not stop his son's advance. If he was going to be stubborn, Liam would just have to learn the hard way. Dynala's prediction that their son would be a miniature Nuada had been proved true every day since Liam's birth; the similarities between the two of them were very evident just then – Nuada remembered well the obstinacy of his youth, the refusal to accept instruction, the desire to find his way on his own terms. Now that he had become the tutor of such a student, Nuada felt deep respect for his teachers and surprise that he had lived to adulthood. Ah, but Nuada's love for his son had grown through the years, and he would never change a single thing about Liam. Well, except maybe to make him a little less pig-headed…

But that was neither here nor there, and the sparring began. Liam was strong and fast – Nuada noted proudly that he would be an exceptional warrior one day as he blocked Liam's first blow. They sped up steadily, slashing and deflecting, until Nuada found the opening to strike just so. His sword sneaked in, forcing Liam to attempt the troublesome parry.

Liam made the effort, and he nearly had it – but when Nuada's sword struck his, his sword was dashed from his grip. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he snatched his sword from the ground and stalked back a few steps, returning to the ready position. If it _killed_ him, he would conquer that parry!

They were about to begin again, but then Dynala stepped out of the house with a pitcher and two cups. "Take a break, my loves," she advised. "You've been at it for hours."

"Thank you, Mother," Liam muttered and quickly gulped down a cup of water and poured himself another.

Smiling lovingly, Dynala handed the second cup to Nuada. "Thank you," Nuada said, giving her a quick kiss. She grinned – blushing slightly, to Nuada's delight – and handed him a cloth. Nuada appreciated that – it was a hot summer, and he was sweaty – and wiped his face.

Dynala turned back to Liam, who scowling and ruminating that cursed parry, and handed him another piece of cloth. As the boy wiped the sweat from his brow, she spoke encouragingly. "You are doing very well; you almost had it that time. Perhaps if you tried –"

She did not have a chance to finish her statement. Liam, who was mentally flaying himself for failing yet again, found that his mother's optimism and guidance was too much for his pride to bear. "What do _you_ know of it?" he barked harshly without consciously deciding to speak. "You're a _healer_, and a woman at that!"

The boy barely had time to register the shock and hurt on his mother's face before a strong hand gripped the scruff of his neck and spun him around. Dark gold eyes stared down at him from a coolly angry face. Right about then, he realized exactly what he had done. His knees turned to water under his father's gaze.

Nuada's voice was slow and quiet. "Firstly, know this: A warrior is not a warrior until he is a man; and a man is not a man until he is first a _gentleman_. A _gentleman_ treats women with courtesy; that _particular_ woman is your mother, who gave you life – for that, you owe her more respect than usual." Liam could not look away from Nuada's eyes as he continued. "Secondly, keep in mind that your mother's father was one of the greatest fighters that ever lived. Half of your warrior's blood comes from _her_." Nuada raised an eyebrow. "Thirdly, there are females in this world that have such skill with weapons that _twenty _men could not stand before them. Finn MacCool himself was trained by one such woman. Your mother just so happens to be one of them, also – she knows more about swordplay than you do. And lastly, remember that Dynala is not just your mother; she is also my _wife_, and _no_ _one_ may speak to my wife rudely." Nuada released Liam's neck. "Apologize," he commanded.

Liam's face burning with shame, he looked at his feet and muttered, "Sorry."

"You did not insult _me_," Nuada reminded him. "Look at your mother and apologize."

Liam obeyed, turning around, looking up from his boots and into his mother's face. "I apologize, Mother. I was disrespectful and boorish. Please forgive me."

Dynala saw the sincere regret in his eyes and smiled; her son was growing up into a fine young man – he was not just sorry for getting caught and lectured, but also for his offense. "I forgive you, Liam."

He bowed his head slightly. "Thank you." Then, swallowing his pride, he asked, "Will you please tell me what you were going to recommend for improving my parry?"

Gladly, she did; two tries later, Liam successfully completed the complex move. As the family celebrated the accomplishment, Mr. Wink came tearing up to their house. _Nuada!_ he shouted. _Nuada!_ Everyone turned to look at the troll as he hurtled up to the prince. _We found it!_

No one had to ask what Wink meant. The news hit Nuada like a blow to the stomach. "Are you _certain?_" There had been false alarms before.

_There is no doubt – it is _definitely_ the piece_, Wink assured him.

"_Where?_" Nuada demanded, his mind already starting to plan.

Wink explained hastily. _The United States – New York City. It was found on a website for historical artifacts – the humans are going to auction it off in ten days._

Fury pulsed through Nuada – how like humans to try to sell that which was not rightfully theirs! Ten days….. Dynala spoke what was on his mind. "Then there is little time – you must hurry!" She ran back into the house.

Liam's eyes were glowing victoriously. "The last piece of the Crown! Father, we can finally be _free!_" Liam was young, but he had seen the atrocities humans had committed. They slowly but progressively crept closer to his home in the mountains, felling trees and making his mother cry every time they did so; chasing away the game; hiking, camping, and littering everywhere; polluting the forest and rivers. How many Fae had he seen displaced? Though he was but a child, he had lost count.

Dynala emerged with a pack full of clothes, food, and anything else they might need – in her hand were a shirt, Nuada's weapons, and their sheathes. He donned each quickly and snatched Dynala in a fierce embrace. "I love you," he said. He kissed her fervently.

"And I love you," she replied. Her eyes were wide, worried, anxious, excited, troubled, and many other things Nuada couldn't recognize. "Be careful, be _safe_," she begged.

Nuada promised that he would. Then he caught his son up in a tight hug. "I love you. I'll be back soon," he vowed. "Take care of your mother while I'm gone."

Liam nodded, standing very straight and tall as his father stood back. "I will."

Their hasty goodbyes finished, Nuada and Wink disappeared into the forest. Liam watched proudly. His father would reclaim the now-found Crown piece and take the other two from his father and sister. He would rid the world of humans and free the Fae. But then, in Liam's memory, Nuada's voice spoke – Liam's father had just heard that an entire forest that had been burned down by a human's stupidity and that seven Fae had died in the blaze; he had bitterly remarked that Balor must think death was better than resuming the war with humanity or he would done something about the tragedy. Liam was not naïve – if King Balor truly thought that, he would not willingly give Nuada the piece of the Crown he kept. Liam knew that would not stop his father. But then….

Liam took off like a shot after his father, calling for him to wait, gasping out that he had to ask him something when he finally caught up to Nuada and Wink. Impatience made Nuada want to tell Liam to go back home, but one look at his son's whiter-than-normal face changed his mind. "What is it?"

Liam's troubled eyes bored into his. "What will you do if my grandfather will not give you his piece?"

Of course Nuada had thought of that, but the answer was something that nearly ate away his bones with pain and guilt. That his son, of all people, was asking that question was cruelly excruciating. "Wink, give us a moment." The troll, too, was chomping at the bit, but he knew the importance of such a question and he gave the two some privacy. "I will try to make him see reason," Nuada hedged when they were alone.

With the insight inherent in all children, Liam saw through Nuada's reluctance. "And if he will not see reason?" The child swallowed hard; his next question was barely a whisper. "Will you kill him?"

And there it was, the one thing Nuada had not wanted Liam to ask because Nuada knew that it was a possibility. That he was even considering it tore at his soul; but, as he told Liam, "I owe protection to my people. I cannot stand by as the Fae suffer." He drew in a shaky breath. "But I love my father very much – I cannot imagine harming him." That much was true; while the thought had occurred to him, he had always cringed inwardly and brushed it aside. "I don't know," he whispered. "I want to answer you, but….. the truth is that I do not _know_ the answer."

Liam saw the ragged lines of pain on his father's face and for some reason he felt better. Perhaps he felt comforted because he had been assured that, even if his father killed Balor, he would not do it in cold blood, with no regret. Liam hugged his father again in a silent goodbye. "Go now," he said. "Stay safe."

Ten days later, Nuada stepped out from the shadows and stood before the frightened people who had been bidding on the artifacts. His blood was simmering in fury at the auctioneer's comment about the "lost" culture of Bethmoora – his people were _not_ extinct yet, no thanks to humanity. But when he spoke, his voice was calm, almost polite. "Lost?" he repeated. He walked to the front of the room with the case of tooth fairies under his arm, watching the fear and confusion in the humans' eyes without feeling as much as a flicker of mercy. The Fae, lost? Nuada almost smiled. "Not at all."


	18. Traitor

Agent Manning of the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense was just coming home after a hard day of work. He was unlocking his front door when a shadow moved in his peripheral vision. He turned, expecting to see nothing more than a stray cat. Instead, his eyes found a man standing in his front yard. Manning jumped. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing here?"

"Do not worry about my name," the man replied, sounding bored. "But I am here to warn you." His grin was feral; it made Manning shiver. "Mr. Manning, do you believe in Faeries?" the strange man asked, walking up the steps of Manning's front porch. In the dim illumination of the porch light, Manning saw that he was handsome and tall – and that the tips of his ears were pointed. "If not, you should," the man continued. "Working where you do, you would have to be stupid to not believe in things considered myths."

The BRPD was top-secret – how did this person know where Manning worked? "I don't know what you're talking about," he snapped. "Go check yourself into an institution or something." He started to open his door and step inside.

The man's eyes narrowed as his smile widened. "I see. Well, Agent Manning of the non-existent BRPD, if you do not know of what I speak, then I shall return to my home." His eyes were glittering dangerously. "If, however, you were to suddenly remember your occupation, I would tell you of the seventy humans who have been slain tonight, this very hour. I would tell you who murdered them, why he did so – and how to stop him."

Manning paused. It was risky, but this guy clearly wasn't human anyway – who in the human world would he tell? He stepped back outside and closed the door. "I'm listening."

The next night, Dynala's eyes opened in wakefulness despite the late hour. Her heart pounding hard, she sat bolt upright and tried to decipher the messages the trees were sending her. _Coming_, they whispered. _Many. All sides. Coming_. Dynala listened hard, piecing together the whole picture. When she did, she was paralyzed with fear.

Approximately fifty humans, all heavily armed, had formed a circle around her house, and they were slowly tightening the noose. Liam! she thought. The thought of her son in the hands of humans was enough to break the bonds of terror; Dynala jumped from bed and flung open a chest at the foot of her bed. She drew from it her sword, bow, and quiver. Having buckled her sword belt around her waist, slung her quiver over her shoulder, and strung her longbow, she darted down the hall to Liam's room. She shook him awake, thankful that he did not sleep as deeply as his father. His eyes opened blearily, and Dynala placed her hand over his mouth before he could speak. Her lips at his ear, she breathed, "Be very quiet. There are people coming. Hurry – get up."

Liam was confused until he saw the glint of her sword at her side. Then he was wide awake. He obeyed silently and followed his mother, pausing only to snatch his sword from a shelf in his room.

"Glamour yourself," his mother whispered. When they were invisible to human eyes, Dynala led him out of the house, their feet making no found on the grass. They pressed their backs to the barn and waited. When the first humans emerged from the trees, Liam grasped the hilt of his sword tightly. Dynala had to grab Liam's shoulder to hold him still – she understood his anger, but they were far outnumbered. The humans passed right by them, close enough to touch; when their circle had tightened enough that it no longer enclosed Dynala and Liam, she beckoned for her son to follow. They ran soundlessly into the trees, not stopping until they had reached Corrigan's house. Dynala knocked urgently until Corrigan came to the door; when the goblin saw Dynala's pale face, their weapons, and the way she clutched Liam close to her, he quickly let them in. Dynala breathlessly explained.

Corrigan's eyes grew wider as he listened. "Stars above," he whispered when she had finished. "You're safe here, though, don't worry."

Dynala ran a shaking hand over her face. "Thank you. I –" Something made her stop midsentence. Her head lifted as though she were listening to something, and her face blanched. "They're _here_," she whispered.

Suddenly from outside a familiar voice tauntingly called out. "Come out, Dynala, come out!"

Corrigan, Dynala, and Liam gasped in unison.

"Sorry about this." But Cavan did not _sound_ sorry. "I guess I'm just not used to being passed over for another man. You sealed your fate when you married the princeling. As for this setup – I learn from my mistakes, lady," Cavan continued gloatingly. "After the trees warned you about my plan last time – by the way, I am _still_ displeased that Nuada killed my leprechaun friend – I realized that I needed to have a second trap set when you ran – and where else would you go but to Corrigan?" To Corrigan, he said, "Send her and the boy out, and the humans will not touch your family."

Corrigan's reply was to blisteringly curse Cavan, his mother, his father, and every other relative he could think of.

There was dead silence for a moment. "Very well," Cavan drawled.

And the humans kicked in the door, opening fire. Dynala flung herself and Liam down just in time, but Corrigan was hit low on the left side of his chest. "_Corrigan!_" Dynala shrieked as Ornat and all of Corrigan's daughters – and the entire village – woke and started screaming. Blood gushed from between Corrigan's lips. "Run," he croaked. The light in his eyes snuffed out.

Mad with rage and fear, Dynala reached out to the trees. _Rise!_ she cried to them. _Kill!_ They obeyed. Roots bursting from the ground, trunks groaning as they moved, the trees seized several men, Cavan included, and wrung the life from them with their roots, squeezing them in death-grips until bones snapped and flesh tore and blood ran from their bodies like water twisted from a rag. While the men at the door were distracted by their perishing comrades, Dynala dragged Liam to his feet and sprinted toward the back door. Bullets peppered the walls of the house as they ran. Tipper appeared in the hallway, a dagger in her hand – Dynala grabbed her arm and towed her along without pausing. They made the woods, entering the crowds of Fae who were also fleeing. Liam tripped over a tree root – his mother hauled him up and kept running.

Then something sharp bit into her shoulder and roaring blackness spread across her vision. She cried out, collapsed to the ground, and moved no more. "_Mother!_" Liam shouted, dropping to his knees by her and shaking her. She did not wake, and the humans were coming closer, and he could not _leave_ her! "_Run!_" he shouted to Tipper, who was yanking on his arm, trying to force him back to his feet. "Send to my father! _GO!_" Later, Tipper would curse herself for being a coward, but she was so afraid that she left Liam and Dynala and ran away.

Liam stood, drawing his sword, and planted himself between his mother and the humans. They surrounded him, lowering their weapons slightly – they did not want to harm a child. "Put that down, kid," one man ordered. "We don't want to hurt you."

Liam trembled with rage and fear. Hoping that he sounded as brave and strong as his father, he snarled, "If you come near my mother, I will _kill_ you!"

The human who had spoken thought that he could talk Liam into surrendering. "No, kid, you won't kill me," he said soothingly, putting down his gun and raising his hands. He stepped closer to the elf child. "Come on," he urged. "Put it down. You aren't going to kill me." He took another step forward, within striking distance. Liam proved him wrong – as soon as the human was close enough, he plunged his sword straight through the man's throat.

The other humans cursed; the elf was fast – they hadn't even seen the kid move, or they would have stopped him. Another man pulled out a smaller side arm, trained it on the boy, and pulled the trigger. A sharp something hit Liam in the neck; as black nothingness washed up to meet him, his first though was for his mother. His second was that dying hurt much less than he had expected.

Tipper ran until she could not run anymore – when she dropped to all fours, gasping for air and vomiting, she was out of the Greenwood, farther from home than she'd ever been. Someone called out to her, but she could not hear the voice past her pulse rushing in her ears; when a hand touched her shoulder, she shrieked and lashed out with the dagger she still held.

A strong, calloused hand caught her wrist before she could do any damage. Tipper struggled and kicked until she noticed that the hand was white – white like Nuada's and Liam's, white like an elf's. Eyes wide in the dark, she looked at the face before here. White skin and hair, gold eyes, and pointed ears. But even other Fae had betrayed her this night; she had heard Cavan's voice taunting Dynala. Freeing her hand from his grasp like her father had taught her, she brought the edge of the dagger up under the strange elf's chin. "Steady," the he whispered, raising his hands. "My name is Declan. I mean you no harm."

Tipper hesitated and asked one question. "Are you loyal to Prince Nuada Silver Lance?"

Declan's eyes flared. "I would die for him," he proclaimed passionately. There was no doubting the truth in his words.

Tipper trembled and dropped the dagger. When she almost keeled over, Declan caught and steadied her. "Then help me," she whispered.

Dynala was wakened by a vicious, painful pounding in her temples. Her mouth tasted terrible; her entire body ached from the chemicals the humans had drugged her with. She swept through her body with her magic, relief pouring through her when she realized that nothing was wrong; she was just experiencing aftereffects. Slowly, wincing as the light exacerbated her headache, she opened her eyes. She was in a small room with concrete walls. The floor, too, was concrete – she knew because she was lying on it, and she could feel its abrasiveness beneath her cheek. Slowly, she sat up, her head spinning, and looked around. Liam was not there; she hoped fervently that he had escaped, but there was a gnawing dread in the pit of her stomach that he had been hurt or taken or worse….. No – she would not think of that; she would go mad. There was a cot next to her – she must have rolled off during her tormented sleep – and a tray of food on a low table that was bolted to the floor.

Her stomach snarled and her mouth watered. She did not feel well enough to stand yet; she crawled over to it. But when she raised at bite of the food to her lips and the scent caught in her nose, she gagged and shoved it away. How could humans _eat_ food like that – she could smell the chemicals, the – the _unnaturalness_ of it! It made her stomach turn. Maybe under normal circumstances she could have choked it down, but not now, now when she was… She decided to try the water. Though the plastic cup would give it a strange taste, perhaps it would be drinkable, and she was _so_ thirsty.

As soon as the liquid touched her tongue, though, Dynala actually wretched – but there was nothing in her stomach that she could vomit up. She bit back tears. Even the _water_ was chock-full of additives, abnormal augmentations, and the ever-present chemicals these humans seemed unable to live without! She could not eat or drink what they had given her. Perhaps they had done it on purpose – perhaps they intended to starve her.

The door to her cell, for that was what it was, opened, and a burly human man stepped in. His hair was short and blond, and his eyes were small and dark. She wanted to stand up so that she would not have to look up at him like a prisoner or an inferior, but she knew she was too weak, and it would be better to stay sitting than to stand and fall. "Where is my son?" Dynala demanded immediately, her voice raspy.

He smiled unctuously; Dynala found that she hated him already. "What's your rush? Eat, relax."

"_Where is my son?_" she repeated. If she had not been so weak, she would have attacked the cur.

"He's safe. But you mean, did he get away? No, he didn't. He's here, in another room."

Her heart broke – he had been captured. But he was alive, safe. Or, she thought, her eyes narrowing, so the human _says_. Humans were liars. "Take me to him," she ordered.

The human leaned leisurely against the wall. "Now, I would love to do that, I really would. But first you're going to have to answer a few questions for me." Seeing Dynala stiffen, he crossed his arms and got down to business. "I know that Prince Nuada is your husband – your kid looks just like him, right down to that gross scar on his face. What I don't know – what you're going to _tell_ me – is where I can find the prince."

Well, Dynala thought, I suppose this means that Nuada succeeded in taking the Crown piece. Out loud, she said, very firmly, "I want you to take me to my son. Then, and _only_ then, will I consider answering your questions." It was not a lie – she would consider it and decide against it, and she did not know where to find Nuada, anyway.

The human's eyes narrowed. "Let me make something very clear to you. _I don't like you_ – you killed thirteen of my men with that tree stunt. Your little _brat_ killed another man before we tranquilized him, so I don't like _him_ either. You can cry, you can beg; but you _will not_ see your son until you start telling me what I want to know."

Dynala was not so easily broken. "And I will not think of telling you those things _until_ I see my son. We seem to be at a stalemate." And _he_ would be the one to relent; he had more to lose than she, for he could not kill her son without silencing her completely.

The human crossed the tiny room in two steps, gripped Dynala's arms, and hauled her up to his face. "You don't get to order me around," he hissed, his nose not even an inch away from hers. "You will tell me _everything_ you know – or I'll go have a little _talk_ with your kid."

Rage exploded in Dynala like a volcanic eruption. He _dared_ threated her son? Reflexively, the heel of her hand smashed into the human's nose. Only the human's quick reflexes saved him from getting bone splinters shoved into his brain, but his nose was still bleeding heavily. Roaring, he pushed Dynala back to the floor and brought his hands up to his face to inspect the damage. "Touch my son – lay so much as a _finger_ on him! – and I will make you curse your mother for ever giving you birth!" Dynala hissed at him furiously, jumping to her feet and bracing for a fight.

The human barely restrained himself from attacking her, but Dynala almost wished that he _had_ tried to hurt her._ Let_ the brute give her a reason and an opportunity to annihilate him. She could destroy his very _self_; she could _laugh_ as she burned him away to nothing. But the man just stomped to the door and knocked three times, holding his sleeve cuff to his nose to staunch the bleeding. The lock clicked open and he left, slamming the steel door closed behind him.

Dynala was glad to see him go, but the stench of his blood was still heavy in the air, like a lingering extension of his detestable presence. With nothing else to do, Dynala looked around the room again. There were clothes draped over the back of a chair near the table – she had not noticed them before. Then she looked down at herself and grimaced. She was _filthy_; her tumble to the ground the night before had covered her nightgown in dirt and grass stains, and rust-brown spots flecked the fabric in places – Corrigan's blood. Tears for her dead friend filled her eyes; she whispered a prayer wishing peace to his soul and his family.

Dynala reached out to take the clothes, but touching the fabric made her fingers burn and itch. Even the _fabric_ the humans used was artificial, toxic. She dropped her hand back into her lap.

She took comfort in thinking of Nuada. He had one piece of the Crown, and he would not stop until he had the other two, as well. Someone from the village would probably send word to him about the kidnapping of his wife and son; and once Nuada raised the Golden Army, he would comb the world for them.

All she had to do was wait.


	19. Allies

His father was dead – Nuada had killed him with his own hands. His sister was missing – Nuada had driven her away with fear. His own father had sentenced him to death – he would have rather watched both his children die than break an already broken treaty. Nuada had had no choice but to kill him. But that did not soothe the ache; grief at the loss of his father's life and his sister's love raked at his heart like a wild beast.

According to Fae law, a challenger could kill the king and assume the throne – technically, he was now King Nuada. But king or not, Nuada was once again chasing after a piece of the Crown.

Luckily, he knew Nuala as well as he knew himself; the connection they shared would also be a great help. Nuada knew that Nuala knew that he _would_ find her and the piece with her, so she would try to keep him from getting to the army. She would attempt to find the map revealing the location to the army and destroy it. The map was located in the library at the Troll Market; it would be easier to catch her there than to try to head her off. Besides, Nuada needed the map, and the librarian would be more likely to give the map to Nuala.

Nuada was tinkering with a mechanical egg – the contraption was proving quite difficult – when Wink entered the room. _There's an elf named Declan here to see you_, he rumbled. _He says he has met you and that his message is most pressing_.

Nuada remembered the elf who had defended Dynala against Cavan and vowed his service when the time came. "I do know him. Send him in, please."

A moment later, Declan appeared in the doorway. Nuada was startled by his appearance, which was haggard and dejected. "I bear news of the worst kind, Your Highness," he whispered. His eyes were tormented.

Nuada frowned, trepidation creeping into his blood. "Sit down. What do you have to tell me?"

Declan sat rigidly. "Yesterday night, I found a goblin woman collapsed near my home. She had been running for hours; she asked me if I was loyal to you, and when I said I was, she asked me to deliver a message to you because she was too exhausted to go any farther. Her name is Tipper."

Nuada's blood ran cold. "Go on," he said.

Declan ran a hand over his face. "There has been an attack on her village – humans. I –" Declan wrung his hands in agony. "I do not know how to say it," he whispered. "Your Highness, I am so sorry. Your wife, Lady Dynala….." Declan had not even known that Nuada was married until the night before – few Fae outside of the village had. Nuada was colder than ice, frozen. No. _Please_, no. "Tipper said that she saw her fall," Declan's eyes were filled with tears. "And she did not rise again."

A thin, wordless cry was wrenched from Nuada's chest. Dynala. _Dynala_, his wife, his lover, his friend – gone, taken, _dead!_ Nuada slid as though boneless from his chair and hit his knees. He buried his face in his hands as he wept. The pain must surely kill him – surely no heart could endure it and still beat. But yet, there was still a _reason_ for it to beat. "My son?" Nuada rasped. "What of him?"

Declan was standing again, pulled from his chair by the sight of the Silver Lance on his knees. "I took Tipper back to her village," he said, glad that this news was not quite as bad. "He was not there, amongst the living or the dead – a brownie said that he saw a human carrying him away, along with –" Declan stuttered to a stop and finished in a whisper. "Along with her body."

Rage clouded Nuada's vision before a sharp, desperate hope pierced the mist. _Why would the humans take her body?_ They could accomplish little with a corpse. Maybe….. Tipper had no doubt been terrified, hysterical – what if she had not seen what she thought she had seen? Please. Oh, _please_, Nuada thought, yanking himself to his feet.

Declan took a small step back when he saw the wild light in Nuada's eyes. "Did anyone know who the humans were?" Nuada demanded.

Declan shook his head. "All anyone knows is that Cavan –"

Cavan? "_What?_" Nuada snarled flatly.

Declan almost stepped back again. "Cavan led the humans to them." The ghost of a deadly, razor-blade smile appeared on his face. "Lady Dynala made a tree kill him – his body was mangled almost beyond recognition."

In Nuada's opinion, even that death was too good for him. "And Tipper – was she well when you last saw her?"

Declan's expression sobered again. "No. Her father was killed."

Corrigan. Another cruel blow. Nuada's eyes closed. When they opened again, they were so filled with bloodlust and vengeance that Declan wondered if Nuada was going to kill the messenger. "I must go now," Nuada said calmly. "You will find rest here." As he walked out of the room, Declan though that no amount of money could make him trade places with the people who had made Nuada Silver Lance their enemy.

The second time Dynala woke up in captivity, more food was brought in. But it was as noxious as the first – though her stomach felt like it was about to devour itself, she could not eat it. The blond human man returned and tried to wheedle more information out of her, but she simply restated her terms – only after I see my son – and kept quiet. Clenching his jaw, the human walked out. But then, fifteen minutes later, another man walked in.

Abraham Sapien was used to people gasping when they first saw him. So when the elf woman sucked in a breath at the sight of him, he was not surprised – he just though her a tad hypocritical because, after all, _her_ skin was _green_. But what she said after she had gasped _did _surprise him. "_Oh!_ Pox _rot_ their eyes, they captured you, too?" She tried to stand, but she swayed and fell back onto the cot. At Abe's alarmed motion, she waved a dismissive hand. "Do not worry about me. What is your name? Are you hurt?"

He was touched by her concern, but she had this all wrong! "Ma'am, you are mistaken," Abe explained. "I was not captured – I _work_ here."

Slowly, the elf's face went dead. "Oh."

Abe felt cruel; why did she look so sad and, well, _betrayed?_ "My name is Abraham," he said, answering her earlier question. She was silent. "What is yours?" Abe asked after the quiet had dragged on for some time.

Dynala did not look at him, but her voice was acidic enough to peel flesh from bone. "You kidnap a woman without even knowing _who she is? _I am not impressed by your employers. I will tell you what I told the other man – I will consider answering questions only after I have seen my son."

Abe fidgeted. He knew that he had been brought in because of his appearance and ability – Manning hoped that Abe, not being human, could make her comfortable enough to talk; if he couldn't he was supposed to lift the knowledge straight from her. Abe knew that this woman's husband was trying to eradicate humanity. But still, he felt bad. His eyes cast about the room for something, anything else to look at; they landed on the untouched tray of food. "You will not eat?" Was she trying to starve herself to attempt to force the bureau's arm?

Her gaze was still fixed on the wall. "I cannot eat it."

"Cannot?" Abe repeated, surprised. "Why?" She did not answer. Oh, well – he did not _need_ her to answer. He walked over to the table and inspected the food, his hand moving curiously over it. He knew that she was looking at him _now_ – he could feel the weight of her eyes. Information filled his mind – what type of food it was, what it had in it, where it had been processed and canned, and why the elf could not eat it. "It's _poisonous_ to you!" he realized, startled. "The preservatives, the dyes – they would make you sick!"

Abe turned to look at the elf and this time she looked back at him, her eyes scrutinizing him. "Yes," she conceded. Then, "You are gifted."

"Oh, well," Abe replied, a little flustered – "gifted" was not usually the adjective people used when referring to him, "Yes." He glanced at the chair beside the bed. "May I sit?"

Her mouth tightened. "I would prefer that you keep your distance."

Hmm. It seemed that she did not want him to know anything about her. "You must know that I would not hurt you," Abe said, meaning every word.

The elf looked away again. "I know no such thing – humans lie, and perhaps they have corrupted you."

"Is that why you want them dead?" Abe asked. "Because they are liars?"

She shrugged. "That and more."

"But the eradication of so many people is unreasonable," he objected. "What have humans done to you?"

Her stare was scorching. "_Besides_ kidnapping me and my son; killing my parents, brother, and countless Fae; and destroying the planet?"

Abe blushed. She had him there; he had asked the question without thought. "There is still hope for them," he argued softly. "They _can_ change."

That did it; enraged, the woman sprang to her feet. "I have waited _a thousand years_ for them to change!" she shrieked. "They have _not!_ The few who _try_ are branded tree-huggers and radicals, and even if the rest of humanity _were_ listening to them, _no one _listens to_ us!_ We are _forgotten_ – if anyone attempts to tell the world that we still exist, they are locked up in _insane asylums!_ The forests, _our homes_, are chopped down; the game is _gone_; land that has been ours _since the time of the dinosaurs_ is bought and sold out from under us; there is almost _nothing_ left for our children!" Tears pouring down her face, she screamed the last words of her invective. "And _NO HUMAN CARES!_"

The effort was too much for her recently-drugged, under-fed body; her knees buckled and she fell onto all fours. Abe rushed forward to assist her, taking hold of her arm and waist to help her up. Of course, as soon as he touched her, information began scrolling through his head. Her name was Dynala. She possessed a magical ability to heal. She was old, thousands of years old. She loved her husband and son more than anything. And, "You're –" Abe started to exclaim.

_No!_ The word was spoken in his mind. _Do not say it! If they know….._ Abe felt her fear that the humans would hurt her, thereby harming the two miniscule lives just beginning to form within her.

_You know already?_ Abe asked, finding this silent conversation a bit odd. He doubted that she was even one month into her pregnancy – she had probably not even missed her monthly cycle yet. _That is why you cannot eat the food – it would hurt them._

_Yes_. Dynala's fingernails dug into Abe's arm as she gripped him tightly. _Swear to me that you will tell no one of this. Please!_

She was so _afraid_, and the information could not help stop Nuada… _I swear._

Abe helped her back onto the cot – the whole exchange had not taken two seconds. "Thank you," she whispered.

"You're welcome." There was nothing more he could – or would – do. Badgering a pregnant woman was crossing the line. He left the cell.

The blond man who had interrogated Dynala before, a truly awful man named Doug Wyward, descended upon him the second the door closed. "Well?" he asked eagerly. "You touched her – did you get anything?"

"No." It was the truth – Dynala knew nothing other than the general gist of Nuada's plan, no details. Abe told Wyward so. Ready to end his contact with the revolting man, Abe gave final instructions. "Food that is processed in any way is poisonous to her – try to find fresh vegetables, maybe from a farmer's market or an organic store." His large black eyes bored into Wyward's. "She doesn't know anything," he said resolutely. "Let her see her son."

Wyward watched the fish man walk away, idly wondering how long it would take him to die if he ripped off that stupid breathing apparatus. The elf could live with the food he gave her – why spend more of the taxpayers' dollars because she had a sensitive stomach? And as for seeing her son….. The woman had killed his men, crushed them with tree roots like botanical boa constrictors. Her kid had killed one of his best friends – and he, too, had refused to talk until he made sure that his mother wasn't hurt. Wyward cracked his knuckles – there was no way he was going to humor either of them.


	20. The Golden Army

Nuada tried to breathe despite the feeling that his heart was being ripped open. Wink was dead, killed by a demon who had chosen to side with humanity. His wife, his son, his friends, his people – would the humans and their pets destroy it all, leave him with nothing but a soul tormented by hatred and grief?

But Liam was not out of his reach just yet – maybe Dynala was still alive, as well. And if there was even the slightest chance of that, he could not stop. He had to keep moving, keep searching for Nuala and the Crown piece she possessed.

And he knew just where to find her.

Abraham stared in horror at the tall elf holding a knife to Nuala's face. Nuada's eyes burned almost madly from their black sockets. He looked like he had nothing to lose, and that in itself made him even more dangerous. When he opened up a shallow cut on his sister's face, Abe nearly had a heart attack. Hellboy's challenging the prince did nothing to calm him, for if Nuada was hurt, Nuala would be, too.

But Red was drunk; and even if he _had_ been sober, Nuada would have been a difficult opponent to beat. Then Liz walked into the library, drawn by the commotion, and called Red's name. For just one second, Red looked away from the elf prince. "Red, behind you!" Liz cried. But it was too late – Nuada plunged his spear deep into Hellboy's chest. With a ringing snap of metal, he broke the tip of his weapon off in Red's body.

The room was full of people, but when Nuada seized Nuala again he spoke only to Abe – unless he brought the Crown piece to Nuada, he would never see Nuala again. Then Nuada just vanished into thin air, taking Nuala with him.

Abe stared at the place where they had been standing for a long moment. Then a thought occurred to him, and he nearly beat his head against the wall. The most ridiculously _obvious_ solution would have been to bargain Dynala and Liam, Nuada's wife and son, for Nuala. But he hadn't thought of it – he was just as drunk as Red, and he wasn't thinking clearly.

He silently vowed to _never_ drink again.

Dynala had just fallen asleep when the door of her cell banged open. Her eyes flashed open and saw the blond human man who had not left her alone since Abraham lad left. "We've had the most _interesting_ development," he said coldly. "It just so happens that we've been harboring your sister-in-law since earlier this evening because she wouldn't be parted from that precious piece." His beady eyes narrowed. "And guess what else? Your husband was just here, a few stories above your head." Dynala's heart beat faster. "He kidnapped his own sister and told Fish-Man to bring him the piece or never see the princess again. And since Sapien is head-over-heels for that girl, I'm willing to bet that he'll do it. Know what that means?"

Dynala's emotions might have been wreaking havoc on her inside, but her face was as cool as spring rain. "That you and the rest of humanity are about to be in immense trouble?"

The human showed his teeth in a bestial grin. "You got that right. And that means that I'm going to need some leverage." He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and dangled them in front of her face. "You wanna do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Nuada sat back against the wall of the Golden Army's chamber, waiting.

"All of this is for naught," Nuala whispered defiantly. "He will not come."

"You underestimate his feelings for you, Sister," Nuada replied calmly, though he felt anything but tranquil. "I saw his face when he saw that you were in danger. He will come." He _had_ to come. Nuada slowly let a breath out through his mouth; he could not bear to think of what would happen to his family if the blue man did _not_ bring him the last piece of the Crown.

"Why are you _doing_ this?" Nuala burst out, unable to contain herself any longer. Her pain and fear slithered into Nuada's gut through their connection.

"I have never kept my motives a secret," Nuada reminded her. "You know why."

"Yes, but I thought –" Nuala hesitated, then continued cautiously. "For many years now you have not been so enraged, so hatful. I felt the change in you, though I had done my best to whittle away our connection. I felt you grow happy….. _hopeful_."

She had felt the change that had occurred in him after he had married Dynala, though he had never sent word to his father and sister about his marriage – he doubted that Nuala knew about his wife and child even now. Thinking of them made the maw of agony in his chest gape open; when he answered, he spoke more harshly that he had intended. "My reasons for happiness have been stolen from me." But if it _killed_ him, he would get them back.

For a seemingly endless amount of time, they waited on the dais in the center of the room. Then Nuada stood, dragging Nuala up with him – he had heard footsteps. Sure enough, through the doorway stepped the demon, his lover, the strange mechanical man, and Abraham. The iron bands of fear constricting his chest broke, allowing his to breathe deeply for the first time since he had heard of his family's kidnapping. There was hope for them again. He held out his hand, feeling victorious. "The piece, Abraham," he commanded.

Abraham's companions clearly had not known what Abraham was planning to do; they cried out in protest when he threw the final piece of the Crown to Nuada. Deliberately, Nuada slid the piece in place and placed the crown upon his head. "I am Nuada, Silver Lance, ruler of the Golden Army," he proclaimed ceremonially. "Is there anyone here who would dispute my right?" Not a word was spoken – and the Army awoke for the first time in a millennium. As the golden machines circled the four people below him, Nuada's thoughts revolved around Wink, Corrigan, Dynala and Liam. For their sakes, the elf would show no mercy. "Kill them," he ordered. He wore the Crown; the Army obeyed.

The demon and the gaseous being encased in the odd body suit put up an impressive fight; Nuada had to admit that. But even when the Golden Soldiers around them had fallen, hundreds more filed forward to take their places, and the mutilated Soldiers were rapidly reassembling themselves. Nuada barely smiled; there was no hope for this small group of foolish albeit unique people.

And then, from the midst of the Golden masses, a shout rang out. "I challenge Prince Nuada for the right to command this Army."

Shock, quickly followed by disdain, filled Nuada. "_You challenge me?_" Nuada asked scornfully. Of all stupid ideas – as though the demon were worthy of controlling the Army! As Nuada coolly reminded the presumptuous being, he was not even of royal blood!

But Nuala intervened. "Yes!" she cried, hope flaring to life in her eyes. The joy in his sister's voice sickened him. "_Yes!_ He is Anung Un Rama, son of the Fallen One! He has the right! The challenge must be answered!" The Golden Army seemed to agree with Nuala; the soldiers backed away from the demon, waiting to see who emerged the victor. Oh, Sister, Nuada whispered to himself, his heart clenching with betrayal. Will you never cease to betray me?

Nuada fought the urge to either grind his teeth or tremble; this impromptu duel put everything at risk. Nuada had been training for war since he was a child, so he was confident in his ability to win – but on the off-chance that he did _not _win, he would lose his honor, his people, and his family in one fell swoop.

But, as his sister had said, the challenge had to be answered. There was no other option – he simply must not lose. Slowly, Nuada drew his sword; he locked eyes with the demon and hurled the blade at him. Then he whipped out his spear, and the contest began.

The demon was strong – that was unquestionable. But Nuada was faster, more nimble, and more experienced. Still, the warrior prince sensed that this fight could have a much different outcome than that of their first combat in the library. The demon had been intoxicated then; more than once, Nuada had nearly been choked by the smell of alcohol on his breath. Now, he was sober. Now, Nuada knew that he would have to give his all to defeat the demon. It was almost _ironic_ – the very demon that was destined to destroy the world was fighting to protect humanity.

The fight moved to the rotating gears surrounding the dais; Nuada managed to fling the demon into the shifting cogs. But his instincts told him that the fight was not over yet – he stood tense and ready before the turning mechanisms, his spear poised to jab at the being should he catch so much as a glimpse of his red hide. His every nerve was taunt to snapping as he focused intently, searching for a flash of crimson amongst the wheeling gold. Show yourself, he thought furiously. Where are you?

Strong hands seizing him answered his question; the demon disarmed him and flung him to the floor. Nuada landed hard on his back; almost in slow motion, he saw the demon swing his spear down toward his throat. Death, then – _Dynala, Liam_ –

"_NO!_" The woman's scream, horrified, terrified, cut through the musty air like a knife. Nuada's head turned automatically; the edge of the spear stopped a hairsbreadth from his jugular.

When the elf's golden eyes found the source of the cry, his heart stopped.


	21. The Fire's Fuel

Hellboy had never intended to _kill_ the prince; he had just been going to beat him and take the Crown. But when some lady screamed bloody-murder as he brought the spear down, he _really_ stopped. Confused and exasperated, he turned to see why the _heck_ Liz was screeching at him. But Liz was turning around in confusion, too – it hadn't been _her_. Then Hellboy saw the three men walking through the antechamber. He recognized Wyward and his team – the crying green woman and struggling white kid, however, _were_ a surprise.

When Nuada saw them, he gasped. Hellboy looked sharply back at him in case he tried something stupid. The prince's face had turned a weird shade of grey-white. "_Dynala – Liam!_" he rasped. It was a good thing Hellboy had turned his attention back to the elf prince – he started to jerk to his feet.

"Uh-uh," Hellboy growled. Crazed gold eyes snapped to him as he pressed the edge of the spear up under Nuada's jaw. "You just stay down."

"Not bad, Hellboy," Wyward complimented as he and his men came closer, fighting to keep the woman and boy from running to Nuada. He grunted as he hauled the woman back to him and sharply hissed into her ear. "If you move again, I swear, you'll regret it." Hellboy frowned – he had never liked Wyward, and his impression of him wasn't exactly improving.

Nuada twitched under the spear. Hellboy made a sound of warning; the prince ignored him, but at least he stayed put. Nuada's voice was searing with fury when he addressed Wyward. "_Do not _dare_ touch her!_"

Wyward kept talking to Hellboy like Nuada hadn't spoken at all. "I'll admit, I was thinking that I was going to have to save you down here," he confessed lightly, "so I figured I'd bring – what did he say their names were? – Dynala and Liam along." Wyward grinned and gave the green elf woman a shake. "Meet Mrs. Nuada and Nuada, Jr."

Hellboy blinked and looked back down at Nuada, who looked like someone was slowly burning him alive. He was breathing hard, and he couldn't look away from his wife and son. "Are you hurt?" he asked them lowly. Hellboy felt a twinge of guilt; he hadn't known that this guy had a family – this was the first time Hellboy had ever heard fear in Nuada's voice.

Up on the dais, Nuala felt her stomach twisting in horror. A wife? A _son?_ She had not known….. Nuada had never _told_ her. As she remembered the final moments of her father's life, the ferocity and desperation in her brother's voice as he had asserted, "We will _not_ fade!" was suddenly explained. His bitter words to her earlier also made sense now – "My reasons for happiness have been stolen from me." He had spoken literally; his family had been kidnapped. So _here _was why Nuada fought so fiercely…

Abe stepped toward Wyward, uncharacteristically angry. "This is out of line!" he snapped. "Release them!"

Wyward smiled – if you could call it a smile. "Not just yet, Fish-stick." He looked back at Hellboy, a frown beginning to form on his face. "Well?" he prompted. "_Kill_ him, already!"

"_No!_" The woman – Dynala, Hellboy remembered – gasped, her reddish-brown eyes wide and pleading. "Please," she begged, "_Please_, do not hurt –"

Wyward cut her off mid-sentence – the back of his hand cracked loudly against her cheek as he viciously slapped her. Her head jerked sideways. The kid just about had a conniption fit, thrashing to get free and cursing Wyward to the seventh circle of Hell. A strangled roar from Nuada alerted Hellboy at the last second that things were about to hit the fan; he accidentally opened a long, deep cut on the prince's neck when Nuada tried to get up. That wouldn't have stopped Nuada – Hellboy had to plant his foot in the elf's chest and shove him back down. "Easy!" Hellboy barked. "I don't want to cut your throat in front of your kid!" At Nuada's wild, enraged, desperate look, Hellboy said, so quietly that only Nuada could hear him, "I'm not on his side – I'm working on it."

Scowling, Hellboy turned back to Wyland. "I can't kill him without killing her," he explained through gritted teeth, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Nuala. Normally, he would not have been so diplomatic; but Wyward was one sick puppy, and Hellboy knew that one wrong word could get the kid's brains splattered on the floor. Maybe the BRPD should look into a more rigorous psych evaluation before it hired people…..

Wyward was starting to sense Hellboy's resistance; his eyes narrowed. "I would ask what the problem with that is, but I guess you don't wanna kill Blue Boy's crush. Fine – she's been helping us, anyway, I guess." His eyes traveled down to Nuada. "So it's up to you, Elf-Man," he said calmly. His easy-going tone didn't soothe Hellboy – he knew Wyward well enough to know that he was at his most dangerous when he sounded calm. "Evans?" At the command, the man holding Liam – the only one who could have given Wyward a run for his money in the "raving lunatic" category – pulled out his Glock and pressed the barrel to the boy's temple. Dynala started shrieking and twisting like crazy, trying to get to her son.

"No – Wyward, _don't!_" Abe protested, fear in his voice.

"What are you _doing?_" Liz demanded, her eyes huge. "Cut it out!"

"_Stop!_" This shrill, terrified cry came from Nuala on the dais. Hellboy heard her running toward them. "Abraham, _stop_ them!"

"Man," Hellboy growled, rage building in him like fire, "I _swear_, I'll let Nuada up and he'll kill you faster than you can say 'crazy'."

"_Nobody_ move," Wyward directed; and everyone froze. "Give up the Crown," he continued, "or I'll be painting the walls red, got it?"

Most of Hellboy's attention was fixed in horror on the scene before him, but he was pretty sure that Nuada wasn't breathing.

"_No!_" Wait – had Hellboy heard that right? Had the kid just said that? "Don't!" the boy insisted. Yep, he'd heard right. Liam's chest was heaving, and his eyes were huge, but he persisted, speaking to his father. "For the Fae, Father – I am not afraid."

Nuada's face twisted in pure agony. Even though he had been searching for the Crown for years, even though he had fought and killed for it, he didn't even hesitate. His hand went up to the Crown; he took it off and flung it toward Wyward. But Liam had said the exact wrong thing because the only thing Wyward loved more than killing was making people afraid. In Hellboy's opinion, Wyward had never been _sane_, per se; but now he snapped for _real_. "Aren't afraid?" he repeated in a snarl. He tossed the screaming Dynala into the third guy's hands and stalked toward Liam. "I'll fix that," he promised.

And he wrapped one meaty hand around the kid's throat and started to squeeze.

Everybody moved at once. Hellboy instinctively reached for his gun, as did Liz; as soon as Hellboy's attention was diverted, Nuada rolled away from the spear and started running toward his son, drawing a dagger from his belt, impending death in every line of his body. Abe and Johann, too, leaped forward to stop the homicidal maniac.

But nobody made it past that first stage of motion. The air suddenly became thick, heavy, and stagnant; it weighed them all down and pushed everyone to the floor. Words spoken in a language Hellboy didn't understand rang and shivered in the air like a note procured from a struck tuning fork. Trying to breathe past the weight on his chest, Hellboy looked for the source.

Dynala was the only one left standing, so he guessed it was her. When he looked closer at her, all doubt was removed. The expression on her face as her mouth formed the words truly frightened him, and _that_ was saying something. Her eyes burned, _literally_, like coals. Her lips, which, to be honest, had seemed pretty, were twisted over her teeth in an insane snarl. Hellboy could practically _feel_ the hate rolling off her in waves, crawling under her skin like a living thing, seething into reality through the black words she spoke. It's a curse, he realized. No wonder people in the old days were terrified of Faeries – when you piss 'em off, they're unstoppable forces of freaking _nature_.

And then someone started screaming. Before he even saw who it was, Hellboy knew that it was Wyward. He was writhing on the floor, his hands clawing at his face as black, burnt blood streamed from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. The charred smell filled the air and almost made Hellboy sick. From the corner of his eye, he saw Nuala cover her ears and puke. She was quaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, and Hellboy didn't blame her – it was bad enough just _hearing_ Dynala's hex; he could only _imagine_ what it would be like if he, like Nuala, could understand exactly she was saying.

Only when Wyward had stopped twitching did Dynala let the echoing words fade into silence. The atmosphere returned to normal; everyone sucked in a deep, relieved breath. Nuada was the first one on his feet – with one arm, he scooped up his son; with the other hand he grabbed Dynala and hauled her away from the gasping humans at her feet, pausing to stab the man who had been holding her when the idiot tried to grip Dynala's ankle to stop her. Liz was the second one up, crawling toward the discarded Crown, snatching it, and melting it.

The third one to move was Evans, the guy who had held the kid at gunpoint. He staggered upright, his eyes trained on Nuada's back as the prince rushed toward the entrance to the chamber, hustling his family out of there. Evans picked up his gun and aimed it right at Nuada's back.

Hellboy was a bad shot – a _really_ bad shot. So this was probably not going to work. But he was going to try anyway. Please, God, don't let me miss, he prayed as he drew the Samaritan and pointed it at Evans's head. He pulled the trigger – and watched as Evans's head exploded into a mass of stuff he didn't really want to think about. Huh, he thought toward heaven. Thanks for that one.

Nuada spun around at the gunshot, flinging his arms out and back to shove Dynala and Liam behind him – trying to take the bullet that hadn't been shot at him. Trying to protect his family. The elf's gold eyes flashed to Hellboy's raised gun, then to Evans's dead body, then back to Hellboy. Nuada wasn't stupid – he could guess what had happened. "Thank you," he said.

Dynala's arms wrapped around Nuada from behind and she buried her face against his back. Nuada's eyes kind of closed; he rested his hand over hers. "Please," Dynala whispered, her voice shaking. "Nuada, I must rest, just for a moment – I –" she stopped, and when she continued, she sounded a little surprised. "I think I am going to faint," she noted observationally.

_That_ got Nuada's attention. His eyes snapped open and he spun around just in time to catch her as her knees gave out; but she stayed conscious. He carefully lowered her to the floor, asking worried questions the entire time. "Are you hurt? Are you ill? What happened?"

Abe darted to Nuada's side only to be greeted by a near stabbing; only Dynala's weakly protesting hand on Nuada's arm saved Abe's life. "He is a friend," she explained, putting her hand to her forehead like she was dizzy.

Nuada slowly lowered his knife. "Friend or no," he cautioned dangerously, "I _will_ kill you if you touch her." His arms curled around her protectively as he spoke, tucking her into his chest.

"Hey," Hellboy called. "We don't have a problem with you. The Crown's gone – our job is done." A little more seriously, he added, "We won't hurt her – or your son."

Abe still hadn't looked away from Dynala. "She has not eaten since she was taken," he explained, concerned. "Wyward wouldn't give her food without chemicals in it; she couldn't eat it because it would have hurt the babies."

Nuada's face had been twisting in rage about the whole starvation thing, but at _that_ little slip of Abe's tongue, his face went slack with shock. Liam, who had been hovering worriedly by his parents, jumped, his jaw dropping. Nuada looked questioningly into Dynala's eyes; she just nodded and caressed his face. Nuada embraced her tightly, reaching out to gather his son into the hug as well. Nuada's face was pressed into their hair, but Hellboy could still hear him whispering in a weird language. "_Tá grá agam ort_," Nuada said, over and over again. Hellboy didn't speak Gaelic, but he could hear the choking emotion in Nuada's voice; he could hazard a guess.

Nuala ghosted up beside Hellboy, tears streaming down her face. "He says, 'I love you'," she breathed, confirming Hellboy's suspicion. She floated over to stand near her brother.

Liz slid her arms around Hellboy; he hugged her snugly against him. Abe silently took Nuala's hand – only to let go _very_ quickly when Nuada looked up at Nuala. "Sister," he whispered. "Forgive me for withholding your nephew and sister-in-law from you. This is Lady Dynala of the Greenwood, my wife. This is Liam, my son." Nuada looked at Liam, who was staring at Nuala with something akin to awe on his face. "Liam, this is my twin sister and your aunt, Nuala."

Liam blushed a little and bowed – or bowed as much as he could, considering that he was already kneeling on the floor. "I am honored, Aunt."

Nuala reached down and lifted his chin. "You conducted yourself with valor and honor," she praised him, deepening his blush. "It is _I_ who am honored, Nephew."

Liam grinned broadly. For a few seconds, there was silence as everyone basked in the happiness.

Then, "Vell?" Johann said suddenly, "Vhat now?"

Hellboy could have sworn that Nuada was bipolar, his mood changed so quickly; his head snapped up, and his eyes were blazing with fury. "Your bureau _kidnapped_ my innocent wife and son," he snarled. "The _only _reason I have not killed you is that the demon saved my life. This place is of the Fae; you will leave _now_."

"Hey, none of us – except Abe, I guess – knew about Dynala or Liam until a few minutes ago," Hellboy protested. "And there's no way Abe was a part of the actual kidnapping. To be perfectly honest, after all of this I'm debating whether the BRPD is a good place for me to be."

"As am I," Johann put in.

"And me," Liz added.

"I would have to agree, as well," Abe admitted.

Their declarations didn't have much effect on Nuada. "What makes you think I care a _whit_ about –" he started to acerbically demand.

"Actually," Dynala surprised them all by cutting in, "if they are telling the truth, we might be able to use them." A wicked little glint appeared in her eyes, and suddenly she looked very fey indeed. "I have an idea."

Nuada's brows drew downward in a frown. "And what exactly are you planning?" he inquired. He sounded cautious.

A slow grin spread across Dynala's face. "I think the time has come to call in a favor."


	22. You Owe Me

Michael O'Farrell, the President of the United States, breathed deeply, savoring the bite of the cold winter air as he sat, waiting patiently in his tree-stand. He had not had the opportunity to hunt in a long time – he had almost forgotten how much he liked it. The sun had not quite risen; snow had fallen the night before. The Commander in Chief thanked God for hand warmers as he watched the fog of his breath swirl in the frigid air. He hadn't had much time to relax since that Golden Army threat four years ago; he fully intended to enjoy this hunting trip. The woods around him slowly came to life as dawn broke, the sunlight shimmering on the ice and snow.

Then, out of nowhere, a soft voice spoke. "It is a beautiful morning, is it not?"

If his finger had been on the trigger, he might have fired his rifle by accident. Instead, he just jumped about a foot, casting wide eyes around him. Secret Service had gone over this place with a fine-toothed comb – how had someone gotten past them? "Who's there?" he demanded, his fingers creeping toward the walkie-talkie in his pocket.

"You need not fear me, Michael O'Farrell," the voice continued, melodious and feminine. He still could not locate the woman who spoke.

For some crazy reason, O'Farrell believed her; his fingers dropped away from the panic button almost of their own accord. "Where _are_ you?" he asked.

"I am nearby," she replied. "I _would_ like to show myself; however, I would require that you put down your firearm." O'Farrell hesitated, wondering if this was a trap. He probably should have called for help already. She – whoever _she_ was – seemed to sense his reservations. "On my life and the lives of my children, I swear to you that I mean you no harm – neither wound nor death shall befall you at my hand this day. This I promise, and may darkness take me if I break my vow."

Slowly, criticizing himself for his foolishness the whole time but unable to resist, President O'Farrell set his gun at his feet. The very next second, the air next to him – with him in the tree stand! – began to shimmer; and a woman appeared out of thin air.

He recoiled, staring in shock. For the love of Mary, she was green! Completely gorgeous, but _green!_ Her hair was long, extending well past her waist – her hair and eyes were the warm red-brown of expensive, well-polished wood. She was tall, too; probably as tall as he was, and he was no shorty. She was also way skinny. If she had been human, she might have looked disproportionate or anorexic; but she was very obviously _not_ human, and she made it look _good_. An aura of authority surrounded her. The President had met his fair share of dignitaries and royalty, but _no one_ he'd ever met had such a queenly demeanor. She reminded him a whole lot of the stories his grandmother had told him, stories from the Old Country, of his family history; but those were just stories, he reminded himself. _This_ was real. "Who are you?" he asked, managing to keep his voice from shaking.

The barest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her full mouth. "I am Dynala, Lady of the Greenwood. And you are Michael O'Farrell, the President of the United States of America – the descendent of Sean O'Farrell, whose life I saved long ago."

The President's jaw dropped. He gaped at the elf standing before him, not believing his eyes or his ears. Suddenly, his grandmother's Irish-accented voice was speaking the tale of her great-grandfather in his memory. _A green lady, she was, tall and fair. She saved young Sean's life; pulled him right out o' the river like it was nothing, though a grown man could not even keep his feet in the current. Sean was dead, not movin' or breathin' till she used her Faerie magic to bring him back – his dear soul must not have been very far gone. She asked Sean his name, and he told her; and then she said _– here O'Farrell picked up the narrative out loud – "I am Dynala, Lady of the Greenwood. A debt of blood is established between us this day. I may have need of you in the future, and you or your descendants must answer my need."

The Lady of the Greenwood smiled in earnest. "I see Sean passed the story down – I am glad of it; it will make my task easier."

Caution made O'Farrell's walls go up. "Task?" he repeated suspiciously. "_What_ task?"

Dynala's smile widened into a grin. "I do not suppose that the stories you have been told included the _other_ elf who was with me that day?"

Michael O'Farrell remembered his grandmother telling him that part, too. _Oh, he was not like the lady at all – his skin and hair were as white as snow, his eyes burning gold. He was angry, fit to be tied – he nearly cut poor Sean's father in two and almost killed his mother as well when she dared insult the lady._ That sounded familiar – a white-skinned, golden eyed elf with a temper. "It was Prince Nuada!" O'Farrell burst out, realization flooding him.

Dynala nodded, her smile fading slightly. "Indeed. And now we come to the purpose of my visit." She watched him like a hawk as she continued. "King Nuada had sent me to act as a temporary….. _emissary_, of sorts."

Oh, crap. So much for his relaxing weekend away from politics. Then something struck him. "Wait – _King_ Nuada? Nuada's a prince; I thought _Balor_ was the king."

Dynala nodded once. "Balor _was_ the king. As the Crown Prince and the elder twin, Nuada ascended the throne when King Balor died."

"But Nuada killed him in cold blood!" the President cried, forgetting to be diplomatic. "And you _still_ let him take power?"

The ominous expression on Dynala's face made O'Farrell's mouth snap closed. "I will make allowance for you ignorance of our customs." He fought back a shiver – her voice was composed, but colder than the snow. "However, before I continue this discussion, I believe that I should educate you on that particular aspect of Fae law." She leaned back against the tree trunk and began, her tone becoming one of a teacher. "Any Faerie may challenge the monarch if he feels that the ruler is not doing what is best for the Fae. If the usurper defeats the king, by law the throne is his." Her eyes were frosty and hard. "Do not forget that Balor ordered that Nuada be killed. Many would call the prince's act self-defense. Furthermore, Nuada's killing Balor was done in a time of war. As a man who served in his country's military, you should know that killing an enemy in battle is neither murderous nor cold-blooded – it is _duty_, for the good of the people."

Now that she had made him feel about two inches tall, the President cleared his throat and tried to salvage the negotiation. "I apologize. I did not know that my words would offend."

Dynala inclined her head. "I accept your apology. Shall we return to the matter at hand?"

"Of course." President O'Farrell cleared his throat slightly. "What exactly _is_ the matter at hand?"

"The fate of the Fae, Mr. President, is what I have come to discuss. Whether you believe it or not, there _was_ once a truce between our peoples – a truce that bound your kind to cities and my kind to forests. Obviously, the truce has been broken – mankind has demolished the woods in which we lived; we in turn have entered into the cities. Unfortunately, the Fae cannot adapt to urban areas as easily as one might think because of the toxins in the air, soil, and water. And so we are becoming extinct."

This almost sounded like the lecture of an environmentalist! Only this time, it wasn't some obscure animal that was at risk, it was an entire race. "What do you want me to do?" the President asked.

Dynala's eyes glowed with fervency. "I want you to repay the debt your blood owes me. Life for life – your ancestor's life, and therefore _your_ life, for your help in saving my people."

"You can't be serious!" O'Farrell exploded. "What do you want me to do, halt all construction around the country? I can't do that!"

"I am very serious," Dynala answered; her face was indeed somber. "I _do_ know that you cannot stop the advance of humanity – not even the Ice Age could do that. But you _can_ help us establish pockets _within_ civilization, lands where we can be safe and left alone."

O'Farrell raked his fingers through his grey hair. "I can't just_ give_ you land," he explained.

"Oh, I am not asking that you_ give_ it to us." At her suddenly light tone, the President looked up sharply at her. She was grinning wickedly. "I am asking that you be willing to _sell_ it to us. We are quite able to pay. The United States is currently awash in debt and facing the worst deficits in history, is it not?"

That was another headache – and ulcer – entirely. He groaned and begged, "Don't remind me – I'm on vacation."

For the first time, Dynala laughed. "Then I shall make your day much better! Some of the best lands for my people would be within your national parks – we would ask that several tracts of land be sold to us." When O'Farrell opened his mouth, Dynala held up a hand. "Before you object, let me ask you this: How would you like to pay off the United States' debt – _all_ of it?"

Oh, man. He would go down in history if he could do that. And if she could help him…..

"How would you pay that much money?" he demanded. The national debt was no small sum.

"The Golden Army is useless now," she reminded him. "When the Crown controlling the Army was destroyed, the spells preventing its destruction were broken. Soldiers might be melted down."

And they would pay in _gold_ – stable, universal. He took a deep breath. "Would there be any threat to the United States, her people, or her interests?"

"None," Dynala replied. "Think of each settlement as a foreign embassy. And frankly, the Fae would take better care of the land than humans currently do."

He couldn't believe he was doing this. This had the potential to go very wrong, very fast. But if it _worked_…. "What would you need from me?"

"In the initial stages, help with the politics of everything – greasing the wheels, as it were. After the colonies are established, you would have to recognize us as a legitimate, separate nation. We will need cooperation and friends." Intensity flaring in her eyes, she leaned forward. "And what's more, Mr. President, we will need _absolute secrecy_. _No one_ who does not absolutely need to know may be told."

The President made a noncommittal noise. "How do I know this isn't some trick?" he asked wearily. "Your people are known for being crafty. And why isn't King Nuada himself here to discuss this with me?"

Dynala's grin was a little too sharp. "That you are still alive and that His Majesty has agreed to negotiate with humans _at all_ are two signs of good faith. And if Nuada himself were here, he would have been very inclined to kill you; he may be cooperating with humans, but he does not have to_ like_ them." Her smile became sarcastic. "You do, however, have the next best thing."

O'Farrell snorted. "What are you, his Prime Minister or something?"

Chuckling, Dynala corrected him. "It is worse than that, I fear – I am his _wife_."

Disbelievingly, O'Farrell looked again at Dynala – on her left ring finger, a slender golden band shone in the sunlight. "So let me get this straight – Nuada hates humans and wouldn't trust us as far as he could throw us –"

"Actually, he could throw a human quite far," Dynala interrupted musingly.

With a roll of his eyes, the President continued. "But despite that mistrust he sends his wife, the Queen of Bethmoora, out into the middle of the woods to talk with one – _alone?_"

"He did require some convincing," Dynala admitted, her eyes glittering deviously. "But trees are very….. _protective_ of me." She arched one eyebrow. "And what makes you think that I am unguarded?" O'Farrell glanced nervously around, but he saw nothing. Dynala kept talking. "If you are truly interested in helping us, you will be contacted shortly – through more conventional channels, of course."

He could feel the tug on his heart, his instincts; very briefly, he wondered if Dynala was working an enchantment on him or if the blood debt she had exacted from Sean was magically influencing him. But she was waiting for an answer – this was it. He took a deep breath. "I'm in."

Only now, when relief filled Dynala's eyes, did O'Farrell grasp what this meant to her and her people. It was literally a matter of life or death. "Thank you." She stood. "I must leave now. Look for word from us in two or three weeks; any messages will be from me."

And then she vanished again, leaving the President to try to focus on his hunt.


	23. The Future

Nuada paced like a caged tiger – he hadn't held still since he'd arrived fifteen minutes ago. "Will you calm down?" Hellboy called from the park bench where he sat.

Nuada paused to glare at him. "Would_ you_ be calm if you were in my position?" he demanded.

Hellboy rolled his eyes. "Dynala will be _fine_. She's tough; she can take of herself."

Nuada did not deign to reply to that remark; he just kept pacing. "Why did you insist upon meeting in this – what did you call it?" he demanded.

"Central Park," Hellboy reminded him. "I thought y'all would be more comfortable here – you know, with the trees and stuff."

A roller blader zipped past, not two niches from Nuada's nose. He sneered. "I suppose this _is_ the best you have to offer in this infernal city."

Hellboy shrugged, knowing that Nuada was just being snippy – or, snippier than usual – because he was worried. "And you're sure that no one can see us?" Hellboy asked for the fifth time, keeping a close eye on Liz and his twins, three years old now – Sarah and Daniel. He sure hoped so, because Daniel took after him, and Hellboy didn't want his kid caught in the middle of a circle of cameras.

Nuada scowled, but he didn't really mind; he had been checking and rechecking the glamour every few minutes himself. He wanted no human to see his children, playing with the demon's children and Liz just off the path in the snow. "The glamour is solid – they can neither hear nor see us."

"Ow!" That was Liam, who was now a tall, robust fourteen year old; he was trying to gently pry his little sister's fingers away from a lock of his long white hair – on which she was yanking mercilessly. "Arina, please stop," he growled, carefully struggling with the three year old's fingers. Laughter was written all over her white face, spilling from her gold eyes.

"Arina," Nuada called warningly.

Hellboy was impressed – she pouted a little, but she obeyed immediately. "You gotta teach me how to do that," he muttered.

Nuada's black lips quirked into a sharp smile. "Frankly, I would prefer to watch you suffer."

Nuada's other daughter, Arina's twin sister Arila, ran up to Nuada with a few flowers in her hands – she had magically coaxed them from the frozen ground. "Athair!" she cried, holding the flowers up to him and speaking a string of Gaelic words – Hellboy only recognized the first word as "father" – in her sing-song voice. Nuada smiled, hoisted her into his arms, and carried her to the bench where Hellboy was sitting. He sat her on his lap, setting the flowers beside him, and started combing his fingers through Arila's white hair – the twins looked like Nuada, Royal Scar included, but they weren't carbon copies of their father like Liam was. Their coloring was more golden like Nuala's, and their hair was wavy like Dynala's.

As Hellboy watched curiously, the elf king started to do something with her hair… Wait. No way. Nuada was a warrior; his every move and word exuded, well, _machoness_. But was he _actually_….. "Man," Hellboy asked slowly, "Are you….. French-braiding flowers into her hair?"

Nuada didn't look away from his task; his nimble fingers continued to plait his daughter's flaxen hair as she sang and kicked her feet happily. "When one spends millennia mentally connected to a female, he cannot help but learn a few things," he pointed out.

Liz came over with to watch. "I don't _believe_ it!" she cried. Hellboy was about to rub her disbelief in Nuada's face when she continued, effectively shutting him up. "I _cannot _believe you can do that. I've been _begging_ Red to learn something about hair so he can help me with Sarah." Hellboy's wife faced him, her hands on her hips. "See, Red?" Liz snapped, annoyed. "It is _not_ impossible!" Something over Hellboy's shoulder caught Liz's eye, and she jogged away, calling, "Hey! Daniel, just because you're glamoured, doesn't mean you can mess with people!"

The look on Nuada's face was very smug. "Not a word," Hellboy muttered. "You gonna give Arina an up-do next? Liz was thinking about getting bangs again – maybe you could give her something nice and edgy. And you – you have chick hair, you realize that, right? You have _got_ to get that cut."

"Perhaps I could give _you_ a trim," Nuada interrupted coolly as he tied off Arila's braid and set her on the ground. "Say, everything from the neck up?"

"You're hilarious," Hellboy drawled, sitting back and watching as Sarah and Arina admired Arila's braid.

"Máthair!" Arina cried suddenly, using the Gaelic word for mother. She and her sister ran to the right, into the trees. Nuada's head snapped up – Dynala was back. He was on his feet in the next second, striding toward his wife, who had a white-haired toddler on each hip.

"He agreed!" Dynala cried happily. "He will sell us the land!"

Nuada grinned victoriously and moved to stand by Dynala, but he did not touch her except to lay his hand on the small of her back. In fact, Hellboy hadn't seen Nuada and Dynala be very affectionate toward each other at _all_ since they had cheated death in the Army Chamber all those years ago. "You must understand," Nuala had tried to explain when Hellboy had asked her about it. "My brother is guarded by nature; and he is the king – to be overtly demonstrative in public would be unseemly," Eh, whatever. Hellboy had chalked it up to the stick that seemed to be perpetually up Nuada's butt. They were probably lovey in private – after all, although Hellboy was not an expert on elf reproduction, he doubted that their kids had just appeared out of thin air…..

Bringing his mind back to the present, Hellboy got up and walked over to Dynala – Liz and his kids were coming over, too. "That's great," he said sincerely. Hellboy wasn't surprised that Dynala had succeeded in winning over the President; apparently, Dynala had some magic leverage on the Commander in Chief. But Hellboy wasn't one to stay nice for long, so he turned on the sarcasm. "I've got a question for you, though – how did a nice girl like you wind up with a pasty-white guy with a temper problem and a superior attitude?"

Dynala was pretty cool as far as elves go, but Hellboy had forgotten that she got a little touchy when he started bad-mouthing her husband. "How did a lovely woman like Liz wind up with a scarlet behemoth with narcissistic tendencies and a tail?" she shot back as she put her daughters down, her eyes narrowing slightly. Nuada smirked.

Even Liz snickered. "Ha ha," Hellboy said acerbically; he had opened himself up for that one. "Seriously though – _look_ at his hair. I keep telling him that he looks like a girl and needs to cut it, but –"

Nuada had opened his mouth to say something in retaliation, but Dynala beat him to the punch. "_Your_ hair is not exactly short, Red," she reminded him, her eyes blazing.

Arina giggled, pushing her white-blond hair out of her eyes. "Father mentioned cutting his hair once," she innocently told Hellboy in lilting English when the demon looked at her curiously. "Mother informed him that if he did, she would cry for days and not speak to him for a week."

"_Arina!_" Nuada, Dynala, and Liam exclaimed at once, horrified at the blatant disregard of elven etiquette or something.

But Hellboy's eyebrows were already up. "_Really?_"

Blushing deeply, Dynala shrugged and tried to brush it off, playing it cool. "Do not ask me why – I am simply very fond of his hair," she said with false calm.

Nuada looked very self-satisfied again; it just about sickened Hellboy to be wrong twice in one day. "Yeah, yeah," he grunted. "Wipe that arrogant look off your face; so you were right. What do you want, a round of applause?"

Giving Hellboy a haughty look, Nuada replied calmly, "You may save the applause for an occasion when I am correct about something more important than hair. For now, a mere admission that you erred will suffice."

Like that was going to happen. Hellboy and Nuada might be on better terms now, but a guy had to have boundaries. Changing the topic, Hellboy asked, "So, where are Nuala and Abe?"

Nuada's teeth snapped together at the mention of his brother-in-law – even after one year of Nuala being married to the Fish-Man, Nuada _still_ had trouble not being protective of his sister and, admittedly, being slightly jealous of her attentions. "The restoration of Bethmoora in Ireland has encountered a few obstacles. Nuala is there to increase efficiency. _Abraham_," he spat the name, "is in Australia, checking on the settlement in the Outback."

Over the past few years, King Nuada and the Royal Council had been purchasing large tracts of isolated land all over the world – apparently, four thousand nine hundred solid gold soldiers weighing about two tons apiece made for a very nice nest-egg. The purchases were made through various – and nonexistent – corporations to hide the true intentions for the lands: _colonization_. Abe had actually proved invaluable in maneuvering the legal in's and out's of the transactions. The Fae had begun to migrate to these new, heavily guarded and glamoured settlements and were making homes for themselves. Forests were being replanted, farms were springing up, and life was slowly but surely returning to the Fae. Settling in America, the land of the nosy bureaucrats, was the last step. The plan was to keep all of this completely hidden from humanity for as long as possible, forever, if they could.

But everyone had a feeling that someday, somehow, word would get out; and so contingency plans had been made. Evacuation tunnels were being dug beneath each settlement. The media was being monitored with constant scrutiny.

Luckily, Nuada had a strategist's mind. He had seen they ways that people communicated now – instantly, world-wide messages could be sent. Blogs were formed, petitions made, entire _movements_ choreographed online. Nuada planned to use the human's own invention against them. _If_ the humans did not immediately turn on them, Nuada speculated that with messages and manipulations sent via that enormous online network, he could at least spread awareness of the Fae's plight and divide the opinions of the masses enough to prevent any harmful actions against his people. In this generation of open-mindedness, Nuada and Dynala speculated that some humans might even give the Fae their support.

It was a risky plan – Nuada hated that he would be relying in part on human acceptance of his kind – but without the Golden Army, it was the best plan available. Oh, he had several tricks up his sleeve just in case humans proved as shallow, fickle, and greedy as they usually did; but because Nuada had no other practical choice, he was willing to give humanity a chance. _Only _one, but still, it was progress.

Nuada looked around him. Dynala was standing by his side. Liam was carrying Arila on his shoulders, and Arina was clamoring for a turn. Yes, the plan was precarious, but he had every reason to try. Nuada still sometimes woke in a cold sweat after dreaming that Dynala had Liam had not escaped the Army Chamber alive. After waking thus, he could not sleep again until he got up and walked through his home, checking each of his children and savoring the soft sounds of their breathing. _That_ situation was resolved, the King of Bethmoora reminded himself often; perhaps this one can be, as well. And the odds of achieving that resolution seemed to climb as time went on.

Nuada was not exactly hopeful; he was too much of a realist for that. Still….. the sentiment was cautious, but for the first time in a millennium, Nuada felt a little optimistic.

**Author's Note****: The end! I don't own Nuada or any of the Hellboy characters, but I hope you enjoyed what I did with them. Thanks for reading! If some of you are thinking that Nuada would rather chop his hands off than braid hair, I just think that someone who loves his nation as much as he does would love his family even more; his daughters would be daddy's girls, big time. I hope that the bit about Dynala's liking Nuada's hair wasn't too weird or unrealistic; I just really like his hair and wanted to throw it in. Thanks again, everyone!**


	24. Playlist

**Playlist**

_Arranged in chronological order according to the story._

**Nickelback**

"Hero". This just reminds me of Nuada's mindset in general.

**The Editors**

"No Sound but the Wind" (**NOT** the New Moon Soundtrack version!) This is one of the saddest songs I have ever heard; it makes me think of refugees, and that is sort of what the displaced Faeries are.

"Chi Mi Na Morbheanna". Don't know who wrote this one – sorry. This is the song Dynala is singing before Nuada leaves after he is healed.

**Celtic Woman**

"The Blessing". Dynala's song for Nuada.

**Gary Jules**

"Mad World". Nuada's song when he is at his most discouraged and disillusioned, right before he goes back to Dynala's house to save her.

**William Butler Yeats**

"Down By the Sally Gardens". This would sound like the song Nuada and Dynala dance to.

**Nickelback**

"Far Away". I kind of think it fits for Nuada's feelings after he admits to Dynala that he loves her.

**Lady Carolina Oliphant/Nairne**

"Will Ye No Come Back Again?". The song about the exiled prince that Dynala is singing when Nuada comes back from that expedition to Japan would probably sound something like this.

**Rammstein**

"Mein Herz Brennt". It's in German, but if you look up the lyrics, it reminds me a little of Nuada's line: "Let this remind you why you once feared the dark." This song is kind of creepy; it makes me think of Nuada saying, "I am going to smile as I kill you slowly." Or something like that. Probably around the scene at the auction.

**Anastacia, featuring Ben Moody**

"Everything Burns". Dynala's song for when she is locked up, ticked off, and sad.

**Ben Moody**

"The End Has Come". Nuada's song when he finds out that Dynala and Liam have been kidnapped.

**Within Temptation**

"What Have You Done?". Nuala's song for Nuada.

**Blue Foundation**

"Eyes on Fire". Slow and eerie – the inspiration for Dynala's curse for Wyward.

**Literature/Inspirations**

_Arranged in chronological order according to the story_

**Sir Richard Lovelace**

"To Lucasta, Going To the Wars". This helps explain Nuada's obsession with honor.

**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow**

Evangeline. This is the first book that Dynala gives Nuada.

**Edmund Spencer**

The Faerie Queene. This is the second book that Dynala gives Nuada.

Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring/One Night with the King. Scenes from these two movies inspired Dynala's speech about what love is. Ironically, Luke Goss, who plays Prince Nuada in _Hellboy 2: The Golden Army_, also plays King Xerxes in One Night with the King.


	25. Hey, Guess What?

**Author's Note****: With my permission, the incredibly talented LA Knight has written two adorable one-shots for **_**The Fire's Fuel**_**. They are called called "A Few Simple Steps" and "First Impressions," and I absolutely love them. You can find them either on LA Knight's profile or on my profile under my Favorite Stories list. I highly recommend them; they are very heartwarming. I also highly recommend reading LA Knight's Nuada fic **_**Once Upon a Time**_** – it's long and very well-written, which are two things I really look for in FanFiction stories. **


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